


Companions React to their First Kiss with Sole Survivor

by tea_petty



Series: Collection of Companions' Reactions [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Companions, Companions React, F/F, F/M, M/M, Tea, Tea Parties, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-09-13 02:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16884084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: It's not the first kiss that matters, it's the first kiss with that specific someone that matters.





	1. Companions React to their First Kiss with f!SoSu

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty

**Cait:** The first kiss you ever shared with Cait had started out like any other day; you had both woken up, rallied, and set off on your next crazy adventure. Helping the people of Commonwealth, and fending off dangers that seemed to lay in wait around every corner, waiting to pounce.  All the while, sideways glances, and loaded exchanges sat between you guys, like a loaded gun on a table that neither of you were quite ready to fire.  Sure, you loved Cait – but you could never tell her. Yeah, you guys would exchange flirtatious banter and kid around – but, you weren’t really kidding after all, and that changed everything, even if Cait didn’t know it yet.

Following the adventures of the day, you and Cait headed back home, ready to lick your wounds and then some, in your place in Sanctuary; all the local watering holes would be too rowdy for your taste tonight. And as for Cait’s tastes, well, they seemed to be tied up with you lately.

She plopped down at the table you had insisted on having in your kitchen – a real table, for real, civilized meals with other people.  All the while, you got out an unopened bottle of whiskey, and two honest-to-God glasses; a delicacy in the Commonwealth these days.  Filling each glass about a quarter of the way, the two of you clinked them together; an unspoken ritual between the two of you, before beginning your night of laughing and drinking.  After one drink, you two were just finishing reviewing the events of the day; stories that would enthrall everyone else in the vicinity when you guys went to bars. When it was just the two of you though, it was as if the adventure hadn’t yet ended. After two drinks, the drunken dancing portion of the evening would start; this was especially fun at the Third Rail, or that time you had found that old guitar upon cleaning out the remains of an old house.  In the private company of just you and Cait though, this was more aligned with a later portion of the night, which was after three drinks.  This was usually about the time where you’d begin your late-night talks, private, and quiet, full of hushed whispers even though no one else was around to witness the scars of your past, as you bared more with each passing minute.  

Her parents had caused her the biggest wounds, while being ripped from your previous life and thrust into this new one had changed you, and you fretted, not for the better.  

Her past with the raiders had made her guarded, while for the first time in your life, you had felt completely, and utterly alone, being the only one not nuanced in the strange ways of this fearsome new world.

Your voices were kept low, the lamplight casting shadows on your faces; the intriguing combination only enticed the two of you closer together.  It happened without either of you even realizing what was happening; like the way the tides shifted with the moon, one moment, you were close enough to marvel at the constellations on her face, and the next her lips were moving against yours. Startled and so wanting you placed two hands on either side of Cait’s face, letting your fingers tangle in her red hair, ensnaring her.  Desperately, her hands pawed and reached for you, ghosting over the natural curvature of your body, never resting as they tirelessly searched for some way to pull you closer.  Your chests heaved, your breathing coming out in asynchronous gasps.  Her lips were as lively as she was, flip flopping between hungry kisses, playful nips, and yearning sucks.  Occasionally her soft cheek would brush against yours, and you would melt – you had no clue where you ended, and she began.  You didn’t care.

You had no idea when the kiss ended, it could have been seconds, it could have been years.  Even more could have passed by as you stayed entrapped in her intense gaze, pale fingers gently swiping across your cheek, eyes glowing, lips bruised and shining.

“My heart, my life, all for you.” She murmured.

Your eyes fell shut and you drank in her scent, “And I, for you.”

 **Curie** : Despite being well versed in the scientific field, there was still much for Curie to learn regarding matters of the heart.  And unlike subjects in her past experiments, romantic…”subjects” proved much more difficult to find.  She had performed countless trials and made (as well as remade) many advances in the medical field that had previously been reset by the nuclear annihilation the world had been subjected to almost 200 years prior.  Matters of the heart seemed to move exponentially more slowly. Compared to the immeasurable progress she had made in the science community, she had taken one eensy step forward in that of love – she had found you.  

She had discovered what it meant to fall in love with someone for the first time upon meeting you, and like her scientific escapades, she had given her nights to continuing the whirlwind of thoughts she had been swept up in during the day.  Whereas those of the academic sort were spent writing and rewriting, planning and reworking formulas and hypotheses on the old battered chalkboard, nights in pursuit of comprehension of these strange feelings you instilled within her were spent tossing and turning in bed.  Another key difference; the resolution to her scientific inquiries had come after much toiling, while she had yet to reach her “Eureka” with you.

Sometimes, she found, when one desperately was in search of answers, it helped to tear your eyes and attention from the problem; rest your brain, so that when you returned, you could do so with fresh eyes. This is what she did on the day you came stumbling into her makeshift clinic, bright crimson blossoming on the old button up you donned.

“ _Mon dieu!”_ She exclaimed when she saw you, sheepishly nursing your wounded shoulder. Worried as she was, the extent of her panic had been masked by her silky French accent.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, I know you’re plenty busy Curie, but I uh, need some help.”

“Eet eez no trouble, ‘urry up and seet down!” She chided, bustling around for supplies; bandages, a bowl of hot water, a needle and thread.

You sat down at the table and waited as she set a shelf-worth of supplies on the table and scooted her own chair so that she could sit right beside you.  Close enough for you to see her eyelashes.  You swallowed and focused on the methodical way she examined your arm, only blushing when she asked you to remove your shirt.

“So, I can see the wound better.” She explained, fighting her own blush.

“Ah right,” you began unbuttoning your shirt, sliding it from your shoulders, feeling exposed with just the flimsy protection of your undershirt.  Curie gently braced her thumb and finger on either side of the deep laceration, spreading it slightly.  You winced, as more blood seeped from the wound.

“It’s not too serious,” she murmured, “But you will need stitches.”

You balked, “With that needle?”

It was the same kind you used to use to repair tears in shirts; way thicker than standard medical needles.

Curie grimaced, “ _Oui_ , I’m sorry  _cherie_.”

You pinched your eyes shut as she got to work, first splashing alcohol over the wound to disinfect it.  You hissed sharply as you heard the sizzling of the alcohol at work.  A whimper escaped your throat as she threaded the needle and poked it through the first side of the wound. There would be no putting on a brave face here.  Hot tears streamed down your face, as waves of pain radiated from your shoulder, consistently oscillating between bad and worse. Curie grit her teeth, doing her damnedest not to flinch every time you did.

Just as you began thinking it would never stop, Curie pulled the thread taught, before finishing the knot, and snipping away the excess.

“Done.”

Slowly, the pain began to ebb way.

“Thanks Curie,” you sniffled, feeling like a giant baby now that the whole ordeal was over.

She leaned forward and rested a hand gently against the side of your face, using the pads of her fingers to wipe away the tears. This was the first time she had touched you without the pretense of medicine.  It felt so easy.

You leaned into her touch as she leaned in to you, pressing her mouth against yours.  Initiating seemed to take everything she had in her, for the moment her lips touched yours, her breathing hitched in her throat, and she seemed to freeze.  Her lips stayed completely still, as if she were scared that if she moved them, the fragile moment would dissipate.  Scared as one naturally was doing something for the first time.

You let your own hands reach up to cup her face, bracing her.   _Soft_.  You tentatively moved your lips against hers, smiling into the kiss as you felt her gasp.

“ _Merde_ ” She muttered before hungrily pulling you closely, catching you off guard.

The kiss continued like that for a few more seconds, both of you pushing, and pulling, retreating before crashing back together like ocean waves.  When your lips finally separated, you two did not.  You nuzzled your nose into hers, reveling in the small noise she made at the back of her throat.

“Zhat…was my first.”  She whispered, peering up at you through long lashes.

“You’re a natural,” you murmured, pressing yourself against her once again.

 _Eureka_.

 **Danse** : The first time you kissed Danse had been in the middle of a giant storm, huddled under the meager shelter of a dilapidated building.  It had been a strange day anyways; the two of you had been summoned to the Prydwen, and as such, had to make the arduous journey from Sanctuary all the way south.  

“It’s a giant flying airship, you’d think they’d be able to come to us.”  You muttered, resting your chin in your hand.

“When the commander calls, you answer soldier, that’s just the way it is.”

Danse said matter-of-factly, exiting his power armor to come and sit by you.

You sent him a sideways glance.

“You mean that armor  _isn’t_  part of you?”  You asked scathingly.

Danse sent you a sharp look, “It’s bulky in this shack, and I doubt anything is out in a storm like this – it doesn’t make sense for me to keep it on.”

You hummed your agreement, sparing him another sarcastic jab.

It was silent for a few minutes, save the sound of the rain pattering on the rooftop.  It was almost comforting, like the rainy days you had pre-war, where you would curl up with a book, blanket, and cup of hot cocoa.

“This reminds me of times before the bombs dropped.” You mused out loud.

Danse looked at you; seldom did you talk about your life prior to Commonwealth.

“Back then, most people used these showers as an excuse to have a lazy day – you know, stay home, and curl up with a book, or a loved one.  I guess some things never change, even in the wake of nuclear war.”

You had been so busy reminiscing you hadn’t even realized Danse had scooched closer to you.  He was grateful you didn’t ask him about it; he didn’t really know what he was doing either.

“Yeah, some things don’t need to change.” He murmured.

You looked at him, his soft tone catching you off guard, his proximity catching you even more so.  Your nose was inches away from his, and you felt your cheeks warm.  His lips parted slightly, and he inched forward, cautious.  Testing.

You lowered your gaze to both of your hands, both of you using them respectively to prop yourselves up as you both leaned in. You felt his breath fan across your face, and your heart felt like it was beating in your throat.  You gasped slightly, feeling lightheaded, and you let your face tilt down, narrowly avoiding what would have been a kiss had you stalled a few moments longer.

Your cheeks only grew warmer, as a pregnant pause settled between you and Danse.  The blood seemed to roar in your ears.

“Hey,” He said so quietly, so gently, you weren’t even sure this was the same Danse.

“Hey,” he said again when you wouldn’t look up, still just as close as before.  Your lowered gaze never faltered.  Not when you noticed his hand move from its restful position on his knee.  Not when it moved into your line of sight.  Not when you felt it gently lift your chin up, giving him full access to your lips.  Your eyes fell shut as soon as you were angled to face him, not able to fully acknowledge the budding feelings you had tried so hard to bury in the wake of the trauma that had rebirthed you into this strange new world.

This guilt, worry, grief – it all seemed to melt away under his kiss.  His lips melded to yours, moving gently, but firmly against yours.  He was in control with this kiss – not desperate, but evenly communicating his desires to you.  So like Danse.  One of your hands feebly came up to curl against his cheek, feeling the stubble. The hand that was not positioned under your chin reached to delicately rest on your hip, and you thought your heart was going to leap right out of your throat then and there.

His touches were delicate, and yet, they weighed a ton, keeping you anchored to him, and not letting you feel anything else. You felt blinded, you couldn’t notice anything else other than Danse.  It could’ve been another 200 years that passed for all you knew, by the time Danse pulled away, peppering a few last, gentle kisses along your jaw, nose, temple, and forehead.  They were almost revenant.  The gentleness made your heart twinge, and you blinked up at him, needing the flimsy barrier of your eyelashes to shield you from the intensity of the feelings you were now forced to come to terms with.

His gaze seemed to burn into you.

You couldn’t speak, so you waited for him to, but Danse said nothing, only clearing his throat, not moving the arm that had moved to encircle you during the kiss.  You leaned forward, pressing your face into his soft shoulder, unable to do much else now.  You could have imagined it, or maybe it really was Danse’s lips briefly pressed into your hair.  The rain continued to pour outside, effectively cutting the two of you, huddled together, off from the rest of the world.  You were grateful.

 **Deacon** : It was another long day, following another tedious job you had completed, and you needed a drink.  The Third Rail was quiet tonight, just a few patrons, Charlie at the bar, and Magnolia serenading in her usual spot.  You sat at the bar, nursing your drink, idly checking around the main room, recognizing most of the other patrons from around Goodneighbor.  The man a few seats down was part of the Neighborhood Watch you were sure, and of course Mayor Hancock, and Fahrenheit you knew.  There was another man though, one whom you could not immediately place, sitting a seat away on your other side.

He looked like a drifter, with his leather, belted, trench coat, and hat.  The shades though were an odd combination.  

The stranger was handsome, you could tell even beneath the shades; strong bone structure, and a body you were sure was packed with lean muscle, based on the desirable way his outfit clung to him in certain areas.

An archaic desire seemed to stir inside you, one you hadn’t had since the old days; older than your life immediately before the bombs had dropped.  Back when you were hitting up bars every Friday night with your co-ed law fraternity. Back before you knew the inner workings of your own heart, and when any attractive stranger carried infinite potential to you.  You felt strangely nostalgic.

Before you had even realized what, you were doing, you moved a seat down, so that you were sitting next to the stranger.  He didn’t even glance your way.  

“Hey, can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

His voice sounded exactly like you thought it would, and you grinned, feeling your mojo come back.

“Hey Charlie, two vodka’s please.”

“Coming up, “ He called back, bringing the drinks just a few moments later.

“Looks like I can,” you grinned flirtatiously, giving him a side glance, needing to remind yourself not to bat your eyelashes.

His mouth quirked up into a smile, “And who do I have to thank for this drink?”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your own.

“Just a girl in the bar.”

He nodded, “Fair enough, I’m not much of a details guy myself.  They’re a bit polarizing, don’t you think?”

“For all intents and purposes, yeah.”

You felt your arm press against his, testing. When he didn’t pull away, the warmth that radiated through both of your clothes egged you on.

“And what might those be?  Your ‘intents and purposes’?”  His voice was low and husky; just like you had dreamed.

“I’m just being friendly.”  You lowered your voice; giving it a sultry tone, and making him lean in.

“I appreciate that, I’m a friendly guy, you know.”

You could feel his breath on your face, it smelled of the vodka you had bought him.

“Yeah, I know.”  You inched closer, tilting your head slightly, open to the possibility of a kiss, but not enough to be begging for it.  The ball was in his court now; to close or not close the final distance.

In the next moment, he was crushing his mouth against yours, immediately his tongue slipped into his kiss, and for the first time that evening you felt out of control.  Your heart hammered in your chest, pressed against his, and you briefly wondered if he could feel it.  His arm had reached around to press you against him, and your butt slid off the bar stool, letting him lean you back, his hands lifting you up, the force of his kiss pushing you down simultaneously.  

A you-and-attractive-stranger sandwich.

Your eyes shut, and you blissfully let him have his wicked way with your mouth, his tongue and teeth invoking your arousal.  Your breathing became heavy, and though you dared not proposition it yourself, you hoped he got the message to.

As suddenly as the kiss had started, it ended. You noticed he was breathing heavily too, and you smirked, pushing yourself back up onto the bar stool, fingers carefully probing your mouth for smudged lipstick.

Then the stranger gave a hardy chuckle.

“Can I let you in on a little secret?”

You tried to keep your voice casual and light, as if you weren’t completely ready to jump into bed with this man right then and there.

“Shoot.”

You ran a hand through your hair, smiling coolly.

“It’s me, Deacon.”

You broke out into a wide grin, “Then let me let you in on a secret of my own,” you paused, watching as he puzzledly searched for your surprise.

“I knew it was you the whole time.”

“Wha-, how?”

You scoffed, “Those shades aren’t fooling anyone.” You polished off the last of your drink before setting the glass down and sliding off the bar stool again.

“But thanks for the good time,  _doll_.”

You winked at him, and planted a final kiss on his cheek, leaving him, jaw dropped, gaze trailing you as you left the Third Rail, a stranger with infinite potential.

 **Edward Deegan** : The Cabot house was quiet today; no jargon-laden muttering from Jack’s lab, or shrill whining from Emogene.  Even the steely, ever-vigilant gaze of Mrs. Cabot was void from the house today – it seemed the planets had all aligned, and the Cabot’s all had their businesses to take care of outside of the house.  This meant a slow day for Edward; Sole had pounced on the opportunity for a tea date.  Now the air tinkled with the delicate clinking of one of the Cabot’s many, well-preserved tea sets.  Edward and Sole were perched on either side of Mrs. Cabot’s elegant sofa; and Sole leaned in to pour the tea.  Edward watched her as she did; she was wearing a sundress today, made of denim and buttoned up from the waist until it flowered out around the column of her throat into a neatly pressed collar.  Had Edward ever seen her in a dress before?  He thought not, their meetings usually involved more gunfire and grit. Besides, he had no doubt that had he seen her in such a garment before, he would’ve noticed just how lovely it looked on her.  She matched the rest of the Cabot house perfectly today; delicate, clean – perfectly preserved from the pre-war era.  Edward felt very under dressed.

In a weird sort of way, this slight discomfort was his home – even in the pre-war era, Edward had been the ‘help’.  While he’d seen enough of these stuffy luncheon dates up close, he’d never been invited to take part in his own.  Once the bombs dropped, the Cabot’s received significantly fewer social visits, and so the stifling itch of class dissonance lay dormant under his radiation-ravaged skin.  Now, as a ghoul, amidst all the pre-war revelry, he felt like a jigsaw puzzle piece jammed into the wrong space.  He sat rigidly and tried his best to stuff himself into the likeness of the well-mannered associates the Cabot’s used to have over.  If he’d had any viable blood vessels left in him, his cheeks would’ve burned.  His face felt tight and scratchy beneath the surface; like old, school-boy embarrassments were brewing just below.

“Here,” Sole’s offered with a smile, handing him a tea cup.

Edward was deliberate in accepting it, careful not to jostle the tiny cup.  The porcelain felt as fragile as eggshells in his large hand.  He awkwardly crooked his finger through the handle (that was all he could fit) and waited for Sole to take up her own cup.  She beamed at him, the sun lilting in through the window behind her casting a furiously glowing halo around her as she raised her cup to him;  _cheers_!  He raised his back a moment later, and Sole giggled lightly.  

The tightness in Edward’s cheeks increased and he waited until the choking lump in his throat went away to take his own sip. Suddenly Sole’s nose twitched, and her mouth quirked up into an easy smile.

“You know, I always wondered if in all this post-war rubble, one of my old diaries was perhaps laying around.”

Edward raised where his brow had been, nearly two-hundred years before.

“Perhaps some poor sap has stumbled upon it and is falling in love with me as we speak.”

Both Sole and Edward broke into a laugh then, and his chest warmed at the delightful sound of his raspy laughter mingling with her own higher-pitched one.  Off the record, Edward had no doubt that whoever had stumbled on Sole, words on paper, was smitten with her by now – hell, if she was even half as charming on paper as she was in the flesh, Edward would’ve been standing before her in a rather sappish manner himself, a dozen roses in-hand.  Edward’s legs ached with a restless energy wasted, and his gaze flicked to the hubflowers sitting in a vase in the center of the coffee table. They were no roses but…

Sole chattered on; conversation came easily to her, Edward had already known that.  It was partly why they worked so well together; she was an excellent speaker, and he, an excellent listener.  Admittedly, it was quite easy with her – she had seen nearly as much as he had and had almost twice as much to say.  Edward usually hung on her every word, but today felt different.  Today he stared past the spell of her words and was caught on her lips.  He tried not to stare, mesmerized as he was by the way they shaped them. Occasionally, when she said something, she was especially excited to tell him, her cheek would dimple on the left side.  The restless ache in Edward’s chest spread upwards, rising like mercury in a thermometer, until it was at his chest.  His heart was beating so fast he had half a mind to think it was just rattling around in his rib cage, as if someone was shaking dice between their fingers, before sending them skipping across the green, felt surface.  

Edward found himself leaning in, and the voice in the back of his mind scolded him;  _you scoundrel!_

He had no idea what had gotten into him.

And of that very same vein, some deep, primitive part of him new  _exactly_  what had gotten into him. It had been the same thing that had gotten into him long before the bombs dropped, when his skin was smooth and soft, and the Cabot’s had not yet made a well-adjusted man out of him.  He had crushed Jemini Grahame gently to him as he’d kissed her beneath a street light, tunneling his fingers into her soft blonde hair – something that was seen as deeply brutish at the time. Although not as brutish as the thoughts he’d been having about the woman sitting across from him now.  

Sole was leaning towards him too – a side effect of how engaged she was with the conversation.  He resented the proximity as much as he relished it, every inch of him seemed to pull towards her, and damn it all if he didn’t go straight to her as a result.  Edward straightened up and nodded to signal to Sole that he was still listening.  

“I miss cats,” she sighed, “and curling up with them on lazy days, the sort of days where you wouldn’t even need to get out of bed, you know?”

That was all Edward’s imagination needed to go racing off into fantasy land like a rocket to the moon.  

In his mind, there was a door, with Sole’s manicured fingers clutching at the edge of it; a testament to the unspoken tension. Sole peeked up at him through thick lashes, her hair curled elegantly like in the old movies Emogene used to marathon, with dangerously beautiful women, and tough, unrelenting men who relented so  _easily_  to such women.

In this scene, he stood right outside of the doorway; and Edward knew he was lingering, knew it because in the real world, he was lingering by Sole as well, just with a tea set instead of a door between them. In his head, Edward wasn’t wearing his usual grimy clothes, and Gunner armor; he was dressed in a dapper suit – the sort of thing that Mrs. Cabot admonished her son for not wearing more often - and that he wouldn’t have been caught dead in.  He still kept his trademark hat though, and as the scene played out, he watched as his eyes peered vulnerably at dream-Sole from beneath the brim.

_“Y’should go on to bed, it’s been a rough day for you.” Edward said as tactlessly as he might in real life._

_Sole nodded agreeably._

_“Good night Edward,”_

_“Good night Sole.”_

_Neither moved._

Both dream-Edward and the real Edward lurched forward; but the real Edward caught himself yet again, and dream-Edward’s lips met dream-Sole’s in a chaste kiss.  

 _You dirty dog!_ The voice in his head scolded in Hollywood hysterics.   _You no-good scoundrel!_

Edward swallowed thickly and straightened up again. Sole was beaming at him, her head cocked to the side slightly.  Edward recognized his cue to answer even through the dizzying mirage of his day dreams.

“You’re right about that; say, did you ever find out what happened to Kellogg?”

“Oh! I didn’t tell you?…”

Sole’s eyes widened as she launched into her escapades with Nick Valentine and Dogmeat; and how’d they managed to track Kellogg all the way to Fort Hagen, thanks to Dogmeat’s quick nose.

Edward nodded along more enthusiastically now, trying with all his might to follow her story (he normally was a better listener, truly) but he was smitten, and the simmering want in him had other ideas. Her scent swirled around him; a mixture of tea and hubflowers.  As she leaned in, he noticed that she wore makeup today; just a bit of rouge at her cheekbones, and across her lips.  A very pretty picture indeed.  Her skin looked soft to the touch; Edward’s fingers twitched.  Her lips?  Softer to the touch.  While it would never show, a searing heat flashed across his face.  Edward cleared his throat and adjusted his hat.

He fought the urge to fidget, having caught himself just before his body seemed inclined to bow towards Sole again.  Another wave of shameful heat washed over him; there was no way she hadn’t noticed his strange behavior now.  She said nothing though, and Edward kept his eyes fixed on the floral pattern of the sofa.  He thought they might sit like that for an eternity – Sole, he, and the massively smothering elephant in the room.  He wanted to die right there and then.  The voice in his head practically cackled;  _I told you so,_ it snarked.

Then something soft and warm cradled at his jaw and dragged him forward.  He had just enough time to register Sole’s hands at his face, and her face looming right before his own.  Then her lips melded to his with a fervor that had his mind reeling.  His arms smoothed around her waist, crushing her to him gently, and she sighed against him as her body bowed into his.  The smallest shred of distance between them was maddening; the Achilles heel of the whole operation, and with a growl of discontent, Edward dragged Sole onto his lap, coveting her.  So, the Cabot’s hadn’t been able to rip the brute from Edward entirely…

Sole squeaked, her cheeks reddening to a shade so deep, she might as well have forgone the rouge entirely.  Her eyes were pinched shut, her lipstick leaving red smears at Edward’s own mouth.  When the kiss finally broke, Edward was grinning; a sort of dangerous, secret grin that almost stopped Sole’s heart right there.  She was still blushing deeply, and she reached up shyly to brush her thumb at the corner of his mouth, in an attempt to mitigate the mess she’d made.

Edward’s hands rested at her hips, keeping her planted there.  Now it was Sole’s turn to feel flustered; Edward tilted his head, trying to coax her into looking at him.  For once, she had nothing to say.  She leaned in to rest her forehead against Edward’s shoulder, not ready to move forward yet, instead preferring to dwell with the butterflies of the after-kiss.

 **Hancock** : You had no idea how you had ended up this way, fists full of Hancock’s leathery, red lapels, mouth pressed against his own ruined one.  It could have been the alcohol on your part, or the jet on his.  That’s what you would probably tell yourselves anyways, after all it was so much easier than the truth; that you had dreamed of this every night since the first you’d seen him.  Or that he had to fight the physical urge to do this and plenty of other… _indecent_  things to you every time he saw you.  He nipped at your bottom lip, and you blushed as a whine involuntarily left your throat.

“Shit, doll, do that again.”

His gravelly voice made your heart skip a beat.

“Make me,” you breathed, hungrily grabbing at him, not realizing what you had said until after you said it, but eager to see how he’d respond.

He chuckled darkly, “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

In the next moment, he had you pressed into his bed, and he ducked down to kiss your neck, sucking every so often.

“Ah-“You moaned, clutching him to you, like he was a life preserver.

“That’s right scream for me sweetheart.”

You flushed a dark red, heart beating so hard that you thought it might stop all together.

Your hold on him grew rigid as you felt his hands ghost over your body; brushing across your collarbone, shoulders, sinking down to your waist, and hips, but never touching the places you secretly ached for him to.

You breathed heavily, gasping, pinching your eyes shut – feeling light as air, but nervous.  This was all happening so fast, you weren’t prepared.  You had just gone for a drink when you had run into Hancock; always a happy occurrence for you, but still, he hadn’t known that until about twenty minutes ago.  Besides, you had no idea if he felt the same, though if his actions were any indication, he did if not even more.

“J-John, “you murmured.

“Yeah, doll?”

His feverish kisses never stopped.

“J-John,” you called again, not wanting him to stop, and yet, needing him to listen.

In the next moment he was braced above you, gazing straight into your eyes.

“What’s up?”

His voice was gentle, contrasting to the impatient kisses that had you spinning just a moment before.

“I, I want to, but…I need to know, I need to know if you, if you and I – I mean I just want- “

He leaned over to plant a kiss on your forehead, and you forgot to speak.

“Sunshine, I want you, I’ve always wanted you; you’re the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your head swam from the buzz of the bourbon you had drank, was this real?

“And, when we decide to…seal the deal, it’ll be when we’re both good and ready.”

He leaned back to lay beside you, leaving one hand encircling you warmly.  Tears welled in your loyal, your heart twinging, touched he shared your sentiments, and was so sweet.  Overjoyed that this sweet, good-hearted, funny man wanted you back, and that you’d have all the time in the world to express that in actions.  Dizzy from how quickly he could go from Don  _John_  to “go steady with me.”

You nuzzled closer to him, hiccupping slightly. He chuckled, stopping short when he noticed the hot tears that started to leak from your eyes.

“Sunshine?”

The sober corner of your brain felt ridiculous, observing but powerless to stop the dumb tears that fell from your eyes.

“I- won’t be able to remember our first kiss…”

He stared at you.

“…b-because I’m  _drunk_!” you let out a sob.

He stares at you exasperatedly, the Jet making him to muddled to react as quickly as he normally could’ve.  Against his better judgement, he breaks out into laughter.

“Doll don’t even worry – I’ll give you plenty more to remember.”  

He pulls you close, his other arm reaching to wrap around you, as your drunken tears soaked into his jacket.  He lay there, cuddled with you, long past when the snores started coming from you.  Long past when the jet wore off. As the sun began to rise, he still found himself unable to sleep – as if he had to make sure you were still there, after the jet wore off, after the safety of the night had evaporated with the arrival of the sun.  To make sure this hadn’t been a dream, or a jet flashback.  The golden rays shifted the room, casting a halo on your sleeping form. You were still there.  He was happy.

 **MacCready** : You had to remind yourself to stop shaking your leg nervously as you sat at the table in MacCready’s kitchen, anxiously watching as he finished up in the kitchen, the aromatic scent of whatever he was cooking wafting around the house.

“Almost ready.”  He called out, his back still to you.

Your heart nervously pitter pattered in your chest, “Okay!”

You tried to keep your voice light, this was a date after all.  Your first date.  With MacCready.  

He had asked you earlier that afternoon, on the way back to Sanctuary after the day’s adventures.  He had been blushing and refused to make eye contact.  Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember the last time you and MacCready were able to look into each other’s eyes.  He had rubbed the back of his neck nervously, fidgeting with his hat, as he invited you to his house for dinner.  He had boasted his cooking skills before, and he did have a son whom he’d had to feed, so logically, one could assume MacCready could cook, but you had been so unprepared for how good he was at it. You hadn’t smelled anything this appetizing since before the bombs dropped.

It only grew stronger as he placed two plates down on the table, one in front of you, and one across from you, where he would be sitting.  Your heart skipped in anticipation as he sat across from you, not in his usual duster, but instead in a button down.  You were surprised by how much he resembled someone you could have met pre-war.

You bit your lip nervously, raising a fork to the plate as he stared at you expectantly.  You raised it to your mouth carefully, self-conscious about the prospects of spilling anything on your dress.  You took a second to blow on it before taking a bite.

“So?” he prompted, grinning.

You could physically feel the icy anticipation melt away.

“It’s good!” you beamed back, moving to take another bite as he picked up his own fork.

“I told you I could cook.”

“Who said I doubted you?” you asked innocently.

Dinner carried on that way, full of conversation and laughing.  The night drew on and you found yourself feeling a levity you thought you’d never feel again.  It wasn’t until you were laughing at something he had said over a glass of red wine, your hand wrapped in his bigger one, easily, that you heard the voices of the night shift guards switching out.

“God, how did it get so late?” MacCready shook his head standing up to take the empty wine glasses back to the kitchen area.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” You smiled, standing up as well.

“Come on,” he went to grab his signature green duster. “I’ll walk you home.”

You giggled, “It’s only a few houses down, Robert.”

He flushed as he heard you use his first name – a new development that had started that evening.

“It’s fine, this is a date after all.”  

It was your turn to blush now, the d-word holding all sorts of promises and expectations, especially come the end of the evening.

The two of you started out down Sanctuary’s peaceful main street, waving at the night guard as you passed them.  MacCready draped his duster over your shoulders, protecting your exposed arms from the chilly night air.  Somewhere along the way, you had worked up the courage to link your fingers together – this had come at the cost of working up the nerve to speak though.

All too soon, you arrived back at your own house, and you turned to face MacCready, a few inches taller now that he had you on the front stoop.

The lamplights cast shadows over your faces, and you couldn’t help but admire how striking his features were.

“This was fun,” you spoke softly, peering up at him bashfully.

“It was, I’d love to do it again.” His soft tone almost melted you right there, so different from the MacCready you had first hired.

“Me too, I’d consider this a successful first date,” you stepped forward, shyly placing a hand up to curl at his chest. “So, I really hope there’s a second.”

“You can count on it.” He breathed, his nose gently brushing against your cheekbone.

Your heart skipped a beat as he placed a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Goodnight.”

You swallowed nervously.

“Goodnight, thank you for dinner.”

He smiled at you, “Anytime.”

He turned to leave, and without realizing what you were doing, you let your hand wander to his shoulder, stalling his leave.  He turned to face you, puzzled.  Stepping down from the stoop, you closed the few feet of distance he had since put between you two, swiftly reaching up on your tiptoes to lightly press your mouth against his; so quick you couldn’t even talk yourself out of it.

Startled, he hesitated, before curling his arms around you, to hold you there with him for a few moments.  When the kiss ended, your eyes fell open, and you both laughed, breathless, stunned, little laughs.

“Goodnight Robert.” You repeated, beaming.

The pink in his cheeks made him look softer than you had ever seen him, “Sleep well.”

You lingered outside, under the streetlight before spinning on your heel and heading back into your house, butterflies fluttering inside your stomach, lips tingling.  You pressed your fingers against them, wondering when you’d get to feel MacCready’s lips on yours again, all the while, he headed back to his own home, a skip in his step.

 **Mason** : Mason’s chest tightened when Sole squeezed between the heavy gate doors.  Her eyes appraised the dog fight in the central arena; half amused, half disgusted.  Heat flared up Mason’s spine, spurned on both due to the anticipation of the teasing closeness and the repulsed fascination on her face as she watched the bloodthirsty dogs shake hunks of flesh.  They whipped their heads in a furious back and forth, primitive triumph driving the vulgar display.  Blood droplets sprayed outwards, some catching the steel bars of the cage, and others painting red spots across Sole’s cheek.  She swiped the wetness with her finger, and inspected it with disgust.  Heat coiled in Mason at the sight.  A thousand compromising images of Sole flashed through his mind as his imagination snapped viciously at what had just played out before him – more rabid and desperate than any of the dogs the Pack kept.  The day would probably end with a quick fuck with another faceless Pack member; a sufficient encounter if not an easy one.One of the perks of being the Alpha, he supposed.

Mason’s mind reeled at a thousand miles an hour as the object of his fantasies approach him with staggering reality. His heart seized against his ribs like a caged animal and his mouth screwed up into a tight scowl. He couldn’t let such damning thoughts escape into the light of day.  Perhaps if he locked them up in his mind, starved them of their fodder, they would waste away, and shrivel up before scattering into dust.  The animal thrashed against the cage though, and the bars rattled threateningly.   _Her. It has to be her._

He had tried starving the deplorable beast for months – but he was a tough son of a bitch. Areal pest if there ever was one.  And so, Mason’s yearning for Sole clung to him, his only Achilles tendon.

“Hey, Boss,” Mason kept his voice level.  “What brings you to our little neck of the woods?”

Sole’s pretty lips curved into a smile – but there was nothing soft about the gesture. A sickle was a curved blade but could just as effectively carve his heart from his chest.  The cage bars rattled again.

“Because I’m the Overboss and I can do what I want – do I need a better reason than that?”

Her words were defensive, but her tone relished the idea of him challenging her.  The corner of his mouth twitched. He’d humor her for now.

“This is  _Pack_  territory - mine - so yeah, ya do.”

Sole’s grin spread wider

“Does that mean everything inside Pack territory is yours too?” Her voice was a menacing caress, similar to the way one might twist a knife about in their hands.  Mason recognized this instantly; he enjoyed playing with his prey as well.

Mason swallowed, and his hands gripped at the armrests of his chair tight enough the skin stretched a taut white over his knuckles.

“It does.”

“Lucky me.”

Sole climbed the last few steps between them and  towered over Mason in his seated position.  Her hands encroached on his armrests, and without thinking, his arms recoiled to accommodate Sole’s intrusion.  Her scent wafted around him; hubflowers mingled with the tang of sweat.  If she touched him with that soft looking skin of hers, he’d be a goner.  Mason steeled himself so that when her face loomed a dangerous couple of inches away from his own, he didn’t flinch away.  He could count her eyelashes, feel her hot breath fan across his face, and if he’d wanted to relent to her advances, he could drop his gaze lower and watch as her loose button-down exposed a generous amount of her skin at her collarbone and jugular.  Mason burned feverishly as he imagined tracing his lips along the fragile ridge of her clavicle and his head swam.

“’Scuse me,” he muttered and rose to his feet, the abruptness of the motion surprising Sole into giving him room to sidle by her (again careful not to touch her).

He disappeared behind a door a couple of feet away  Mason’s worst fear was confirmed when the resounding finality of the door shutting never reached him.  He didn’t need to look back to know Sole was standing in his room, watching him.  His blood coursed hot and cold through him as he stalked through his personal quarters and began the agitated rhythm of a fitful pace.

“Get out,” he growled, turning on his heel.

Sole crossed her arms stubbornly and stood her ground.

“Get out,” he insisted, rounding on her. “I’m still the Alpha here, so get out, get the hell out.”

“No.”

“I mean it, Boss.”

“So do I.  I’m not leaving.”

Her voice was void of its initial playfulness.

“I won’t tell ya again – go away.”

“Ha! Or what?  You’ll spank me?” Sole sneered, lifting her chin defiantly.

She set up perfectly for him to lunge forward. His thick fingers cupped her chin roughly and he dragged her to him with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of her.  His lips clashed against hers clumsily, a searing, violent act – and then as quickly as he came, he left.  Mason pulled away, his chest heaved for a few ragged breaths and he ran a hand through his hair.  Sole watched him, her eyes wide, and cheeks bright.  As if Mason sapped her former vigor.

“We shouldn’t,” his voice rasped softly, his eyes shining like moonlight, rather than glittering with solemn intensity like wolves’ teeth.

Sole sighed, taking a deliberate step towards him and curled her hand gently against his chest.

“C’mon, Mason,” she murmured, “am I really so bad?”

She peeked up at him through her lashes.  Sole had time to take one steadying breath, before he muttered a barely perceptible ‘Screw it’ and crushed her to him again.  His arms wrapped tightly around her, and she melted into him as a buzzing moan vibrated through them.  Sole threw her arms enthusiastically around Mason’s neck, her fingers feeling the cropped hair as it scratched her palm.  His palms smoothed down her back and sides in rapturous pleasure.  Sole let him steal her breath, let him hold her so tightly that her ribcage strained against him – in this way, she drowned in him, and she would’ve gladly done it again.

If Mason’s time in the Pack had taught him anything, it was that if he ever found fresh blood, he was to track the source until he found it – it was instilled into him that he should never let a hunt go unfinished. So a first kiss with Mason wasn’t really just a kiss.  This suited Sole just fine.  She and Mason spent hours swathed in the furs and throw blankets he layered onto his bed, where they waxed and waned against each other with a fixation that threatened to steal an eternity from them.   Outside, the dog fights raged on.

 **Nick Valentine** : You strolled into Diamond City, pausing for a moment, letting the familiar neon lights wash over you. Diamond City had a lot of faults, but damn, after a month of being away and trudging through some of the more rundown places in the Commonwealth, Diamond City sure was a sight for sore eyes.

You turned into the alley, strolling down the familiar winding path, your heart fluttering when you saw the familiar fluorescent, pink, heart sign.

Your heart twinged, it only made sense that such a wonderful guy was surrounded with symbol for love.  His last name alluded to it, his residence used it in its branding, and he had stolen yours.  Reaching the faded metal door, you shoved it open, a loud metallic groan announcing your return.

Ellie looked up from her place at the front desk.

“You’re back!” she beamed, “Nick will be so happy to see you again.”

“That’s the hope,” you smiled nervously.

Ellie rolled her eyes, “He will.  You know he loves you, even if he struggles with admitting it openly.”

You appreciated Ellie’s input, but it didn’t completely dispel your worries.

“He’s upstairs, go on up!”

Trying to stall, you took your sweet time heading up, the stairs creaking with each step.  You tried to focus on the noise instead of what you so desperately wanted to do.  What you were about to do.  What you would do to show Nick that you loved him.  Of course, he already knew about your feelings, as you told him, before you had left.  Any shared feelings he had for you had been veiled by his insecurity at being an imprint of someone else, at being old, at being more machine than man, as he put it, despite their being nothing cold or inauthentic about the man.

“Nick?”

You called out, unsure.

He was sitting, his back towards you, hunched over some file at his desk.  He turned at your voice, breaking out into a smile, his eyes glowing a deeper shade of yellow.

“Hey doll, long time no see.”

“You’re telling me,” you smiled.  This was easy so far, but you figured it would be.  If you knew Nick, which you liked to think you did, you knew he’d be pretending that your last conversation never happened.

“I missed you,” You smiled, trying to act as if this were normal.

“I missed you too,” his smile never faded, but he did sound more cautious now, knowing this was a minefield he was entering.

“That makes me glad,” you stepped in, and he stood up, meeting you in the center of the room.

“Listen, about our last conversation,”

You raised your eyebrows, not at all expecting him to be the first to bring it up.

“I’ve had a long time to think about it, and I just wanted to say that…while I don’t know where I stand with respect to Nick on most things; my name, my personality, hell, even my memories, there is one thing I know that is distinctly and uniquely mine.”

He paused, and you leaned in, nodding encouragingly.

“And that’s…how I feel about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, or if it’ll work out, I mean after all I’m old, beat-up.  I can’t give you kids, and you won’t be able to grow old with me.”  He hesitated before reaching for one of your hands.  “But, I do know that I care about you, and so that’s why I’ve decided, that as long as you’ll have me…I’ll be here.  Because I have nothing to lose, and absolutely everything to gain and…I feel, human with you.  I mean, you make me feel like a person.  I don’t feel like Nick Valentine’s copy with you, just Nick, if that makes any sense.”

Nick’s gaze searched your eyes for some semblance of disgust, repulsion, anger – any of the things he’d prepared himself to feel, that he had thought he deserved to feel, for falling in love with you, but all he found was…adoration, acceptance.

“Nick, of course I’ll have you, this is all I’ve wanted.” You raised a hand to gently cup his cheek.  He balked as you approached the broken patch at the base of his jaw, expecting you to flinch.  You didn’t.

He couldn’t blush, and yet, he still felt…warm somehow.  He had never felt this sort of overload of emotion before, not like this, not all this warmth, and gentleness, and…fear?  It was an odd combination, he could see why the subject of love had been the muse of artists, poets, and writers for all of humanity.

“I am no good for you,” he muttered, before pulling you close.

You tilted your face up to meet his kiss as he held you close, frozen.  Unsure of how kissing worked anyways as he only had the memory of Nick Valentine to guide him, and even then, it had been so long ago.  He was unsure of how intimacy with him was supposed to be given his…physicality.  You eagerly took the lead, gently moving your lips against his for a few moments before wandering to place sweet kisses against his cheeks, every ding and scratch.

His eyes shut, as he was lavished by your affection. He couldn’t feel pain, but man, when you pulled away, that must have been as close as he could get to it. When his eyes opened again, he watched you use your sleeve to wipe away the lipstick stains you had left all over him, your cheeks stained pink.

He sent you a small smile at the tender action.

“You’re a little too good at that, doll.”

You pursed your lips, indignant.  “I’m a woman of many talents.”

He chuckled, “I don’t doubt that at all.”

 **Longfellow** : Longfellow’s gaze followed her as often as his restraint dared slip.  Through the dusky haze of the bar, and the salt tainted smokescreen, his icy gaze, frosted with age, found rest on Sole’s face.  The brandy in his system was almost enough to push him past the threshold and take her in his arms; he certainly felt warm enough to, she certainly seemed lonely enough, at least as it currently stood.  The two of them sat at a table in a far corner of the Last Plank, your own private bubble as the night carried on in full swing outside of it. Sole studied the rim of her glass, peering at her reflection in the peach hued wine that glanced off the side of her glass.  Longfellow cleared his throat, half to shatter the muddled silence, and half to ready himself to shatter it further.  

“Cap’n,” he rasped.

Sole looked as unreachable as she was untouchable to him.

“Sole,” he tried again.

This time her eyes flicked upwards to meet his, wide, with tears that swam like little silver fish.

“What?”

His fingers twitched as if he wanted to take hers in them, and after another painstaking moment of indecisiveness, they did. Sole lurched away from his touch, sliding her hands down to her lap, and Longfellow winced, as if it reinforced the rainclouds that clung to him.

“You know what.” He grunted.

“And?” Sole shot back, sounding angry now, “you felt the need to remind me?”

Longfellow scoffed bitterly.

“Don’ be like that.  You said we could stay civil.”

“There’s nothing civil about this.” Sole sneered.

Longfellow was about to snap back, but the wavering tremble to Sole’s bottom lip was a dead giveaway.

“It’s better this way,” he frowned, leaning into his lie.

“Better for who?”

Sole’s hands were on the table again, from elbow to pinky, flat against the table and steepled before her; a restrained gesture he seldom saw on her.  Longfellow sighed and inched his fingers closer to her again.  Sole stiffened beneath his callous touch but made no move away.

“Ye’d be wastin’ yer life on someone who’s already out ta pasture,” he murmured, his voice holding the same timbre a hollowed-out attic in an old house had.  

Sole’s face threw a pained twitch; but she didn’t answer.

“Ye wan’ a baby; an’…tha’s not mine to give, not anymore. Ye wan’ a life, and tha’ might not be mine to offer either.”

Longfellow’s eyes were melancholic; freed of their seasoned restraint.  It could’ve been the gaze of a man thirty years younger, had it not whispered to her ‘ _No, we can’t_.’

“I beg to differ,” Sole murmured, her fingers twitching receptively now to the warmth of his touch that blanketed them, “but if you can’t find it in you to give it, then I suppose it’s not something I can accept anyhow.”

They sat there in an uncomfortable stretch of silence that sat before them, and nowhere else; the merry clinking of glasses and drink sounding from around them as the Far Harbor night dragged on.  When Sole dared to peek at the man threw her lashes, she found him already watching her; she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised – he wouldn’t have survived this long if he hadn’t been vigilant, after all.

“There may be one thing I can give ye,” his voice was so low, it seemed to rumble in his barrel chest.

Sole only watched him, waited for him to reveal his sacred offering; her breath suspended inside her, as she made a well-placed guess as to what it might be.

“Just this one,”

“Aye, jus’ this one.”

Sole was already leaning forward when the tail end of the sentence parted from Longfellow’s lips.  She seemed to hang on every word, tracing them back to the source; she had to, for the tiny allowance was already more of a slip than what Longfellow usually allowed for himself, and she didn’t want to startle it away. Despite the sense of urgency that lingered between them, Sole found herself hesitating; her face just inches from Longfellow’s.  She could trace the creases in his withered face now, and reverse engineer the way his sallow skin clung to his harsh bone structure – he had been quite handsome, once. She was as suspended as the air she held in her lungs; her eyelashes fluttering like wings, her face a masque of the desire she’d have to quell in the cruel eternity that would rush to greet her afterward.

She couldn’t linger on such awesome sadness any longer; Longfellow had swooped in to close the distance now.  His kiss captured her with a force that dragged a startled squeak from her, clad in a vigor that forced her body to recoil in shock, before her fingers rose to thread through his silver hair, catching in the ancient snarls. He tasted of the brandy he’d been nursing all evening, and cigars.  Had this been the first of many kisses, Sole might’ve even giggled at the scratchy feel of his whiskers against her face.  Instead, she only grasped frantically at him, stroking tenderly at wherever she could reach, memorizing the feel of him beneath her, because she knew she’d never feel it again.

When he broke the kiss – because he had to be the one to break it – neither were surprised to find the wetness in Sole’s eyes had seeped out.  Longfellow caved a little bit more, and left his hand to rest at her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking against her cheek.

Sole whimpered.

“I know.” Longfellow’s voice was edged in gold; a luxury Sole knew she’d never enjoy again.

They sat there, the Last Plank proceeding with its nightly debauchery unflinchingly, and somersaulted around this doomed couple; as they stuffed a lifetime’s worth of love into a few more fleeting moments.

 **Piper** : You stood facing the mirror, adding the last touches to your ensemble, wanting to impress as the opportunity to dress up in Commonwealth was rare.  Tonight, was some fancy soiree Hancock as throwing in Goodneighbor.  Or rather, Hancock’s definition of fancy.  Nobody was too sure what he meant, so they had all decided to go all out, before heading to Goodneighbor.

“Lookin’ good Blue.”

You spun around only to see Piper leaning against the door frame, donning a sequined dress.

“You clean up pretty well yourself.”  You grinned.

“What can I say, I dress to impress.”

You sauntered over to her, taking her in your arms.

“You succeed.” You murmured.

The light mood suddenly settled into something much more intimate.  

You looked at Piper with half-lidded eyes, tilting your lips towards hers.  Her cheeks pinkened, and she scoffed.  “Well, this is the first time and possibly only time you get to see me all dolled up, so I wanted to make sure I pulled out all the stops.”

You pursed your lips, taking up a thoughtful look.

“Hmmm, only time?  I doubt that.”

Piper made a face.

“Then you vastly overestimate Commonwealth’s propensity for elegance.  What are you thinking anyways, what  _do_  you know, Blue?”

You shrugged, pulling away, acting nonchalant, leaving only your fingers interlocked with hers, so that she’d have to follow.

“I was just thinking about our wedding.”

You felt resistance from the Piper hand, and turned to see her frozen, redder than you’d ever seen her.

“W-Wedding, huh?”

She stammered, trying to keep her cool.

“And who says I’ll marry you anyways?”

You shrugged again, “Would you?”

“Are you  _proposing_?”

Now it was your turn to feel nervous.

“No! Not right now, of course not right now!  I’m just saying that…I’m not just with you for kicks, you know? I’m…in this for the long haul. So, is it really so crazy to think that someday we’ll get married?”

Piper pinkened again, but her gaze softened in a way it only ever did when she let her guard down.  When she was with you.

“Nah, that’s not crazy, I’m in this for the long haul too.”

You held her gaze, the tender moment forcing your heart into overdrive.

“I actually have no idea what actually goes on in a wedding ceremony.”  Piper mused.

“I mean, formal weddings happen so rarely here in the Commonwealth, and certainly not to anyone I know.”

You thought back to your own, pre-war.

“Well, they can be whatever anyone wants, but usually there’s someone with the proper authority to marry people, there.  Like, a minister, or else a justice of the peace if you’re not religious.”

Piper wrinkled her nose, “So our options are limited to someone from the Children of Atom?”

You pursed your lips, “I mean, we’re not religious, so we could just have a mutual friend do it, really.  I’m sure we could just declare them ordained or something.”

Piper laughed, “Nicky could do it.”

“Next, he would ask if anyone has any objections.” You smiled, bemused.  It would be fun to have Nick marry them – a service delivered in his charming, old-timey detective voice would be anything but boring.

“Why is that even included?” Piper asked in mock horror.  “Could you imagine?  You stand up in front of all the people you care about to declare your intent to spend the rest of your life with someone, and then someone stands up and argues against it? How rude.”

You laughed, “You’re with the press, aren’t you supposed to be for freedom of speech or something?”

“Yeah, but they could have picked anytime to say their piece, and instead, they wait for the wedding?  Too little, too late buddy.”

“True, true” you agreed, “In that case, anyone who objects at ours will get their ass kicked.”

Piper nodded seriously.

“Then what’s next?”

You smirked.  “Then I kiss the bride.”

Piper reached over to you, as your once again wrapped your arms around her.  You paused, taking the sight of her in.  Her dark brown curls framed her face gorgeously, the color of the dress complimenting her eyes, which glittered softly in the sunset of Sanctuary.  You tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, leaning in, and pausing again.  Her breathing hitched slightly – you could feel it.  

“Blue,” she murmured.

You pressed your lips against hers, soft and sweet. Your heart felt like it was going to explode, you wondered if she could hear it.  Coincidently enough, she was wondering the exact same thing.  The kiss was short, ending with your foreheads and noses tenderly pressed against each other, arms tangled up around one another. You let the pad of your thumb softly brush against her cheek.  It was easy, comfortable.  Right. As if you kissed her like that a thousand times before and would do it for the rest of your life.  

She leaned in again, pressing her lips back to yours, soft, and warm.  Luckily for you, it seemed like you would.

 **Gage** : From the moment you and Gage had entered a romantic relationship, things had been hesitant.  Starting with his resistance to accept and talk about his feelings.  You had confessed several times, even thinking that he perhaps didn’t like you at all, before he finally came clean, following an incident involving flirting with a stranger at a bar.

You had never seen him so pissed off, his face red as he growled at your potential suitor to take the drink they had bought you and shove it where the sun don’t shine.

It had only been his brutish display of jealousy that had outed him; and even then, it had required some prying on your part after the incident.

But while he had admitted to loving you, any indication of his feelings had stopped there.  That had been two days ago, and since there hadn’t been any mention of the revelation.  No attempts to feel you up, no hand holding, nothing.

You were getting antsy.

You sighed.

“Something wrong?” he called over, as you sat, stewing on the couch atop Fizz Mountain, arms crossed.

“No,”

He didn’t answer, believing you.

You waited a few moments, your frustration building exponentially when you realized he wasn’t going to press any more.

You set your jaw before turning to face him on the couch, sitting on your knees, leaning on the back, facing him as he sat at the bar, cleaning a gun.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” You asked blandly.

He didn’t skip a beat, continuing with a machine-like regularity.

“What now?”

“Kiss, why won’t you  _kiss_  me already?”

He grunted dismissively.

You stood up, hands on your hips.  

“I thought you liked me.”

“I do.”

“Well you don’t act like it!”  You walked over, throwing your hands up exasperatedly.

“You finally admitted it after months of me trying, and now you’re just ignoring me.  I get that you don’t like to talk about your feelings, but c’mon, most people can’t wait to get their significant other into bed or kiss them and stuff.  I mean, do you-“  your nagging faltered, as you swallowed nervously, wanting to ask the next question earnestly, but feeling stupid asking it.

“Do you even want me?”

He coughed, and you felt so stupid and ashamed and  _idiotic_  that you didn’t even notice when he put the gun down.  It wasn’t until he left his position at the bar to turn and face you that you realized something was happening.

“Do you really believe that?  That I don’t want you?   _You_?”

You stood there, lower lip trembling something, too insecure to answer the question seriously, silly as you felt.  In the next moment he was roughly pulling you against him, his mouth hungrily devouring yours.  He wasted no time in slipping his tongue in, switching between that and nipping roughly, leaving your lips bruised, and you wanting more. One arm was placed at your jaw, securing you to his mouth, the other, had wandered down to roughly grab your ass. You squeaked, reveling in the passion you had ached for, for as long as you could remember.  This kiss was so hot, so good, that you swore you could just die right there.  Your heart seemed to sputter every time he used his tongue on you, and you thought you might actually die.

By the time he was done, you were dazed.  Gage brought the back of his hand across his mouth, sitting back down at the bar and returning to cleaning his gun.

“Does that answer your question?” He asked, gruff.

You cleared your throat.

“Yes.”

Instead of returning to your spot on the couch, you perched on the bar stool next to him, watching him work.  As the evening faded into the inky night, you felt yourself leaning your head into his shoulder.  He let you, and though he would never admit it, he smiled at the feeling, of being wanted by you, the notion sending shocks to his own heavily guarded heart.

 **Preston** : “Crap.” You muttered, staring at the cruelest adversary you had seen in a long while.  The top shelf of the utility rack in the garage, holding the wrench just out of your reach – taunting you.

“General,” you heard a voice from behind you.

“Preston,” you greeted, not taking your eyes off the top shelf, glowering at it.

He came to stand beside you, his eyes falling your own line of sight to end at the top shelf as well.

“Having some troubles?”

He asked seriously, doing his best not to let amusement seep into his question.

You sent him a daggered look.  “A bit.”

“Need help?”  he couldn’t help but crack a smile now.

“Maybe.”

He chuckled, reaching up above you to grab the wrench.  You looked up, watching him grab it, noticing the way his shoulders flexed with the motion, hidden tantalizingly beneath his minutemen duster.

You swallowed, turning so that you weren’t facing him anymore.  How come you hadn’t noticed the height difference before?

“Here.”

You felt his breath at your ear, so you don’t know why you were so surprised when you spun around, almost face planting into his chest.  

“T-Thanks, Preston.” You stammered, trying not to imagine what it would feel like to be pulled into those solid pecs of his, by those strong arms…

You made no move to grab the wrench from him, and he made no move to give it to you, as he held it at his side, laxed, both of you knowing the moment he handed you what you came here for, you’d leave.

You looked up to see his gaze leveled at you.  His jaw was about as chiseled as the rest of him was.  He was like a post-apocalyptic prince charming, dammit.

You couldn’t fight the red that darkened your cheeks as you blinked up at him, and he couldn’t fight the impulse to kiss you any longer.  In one swift movement, his lips were on yours, soft and warm.  He made no move to deepen it, not this time, it was the first kiss he was sharing with you after all, and even here, it was less private than he would’ve wanted.  What would people think, seeing you kiss him?  Kissing him here?  He couldn’t risk tainting your reputation, and yet he couldn’t pull away.  

You gasped into the kiss, and it took everything in Preston not to slip his tongue in or crush you against his chest.  Not here, not yet.  These desires he undoubtedly had, the ones you secretly shared, should be acted on in private.  For him to  _take care_  of you the way he wanted to, he would wait.

You pulled away, dazed.  

Preston gently slipped the wrench into your hand, before clearing his throat.

“General.”  

He turned to leave, but not before risking a glance back at you, only to see you fighting an obvious blush, your fingers still lingering at your lips, shocked.

 _Soon_.

He clenched his jaw, he would wait until after dinner perhaps, when he could get you in the private safety of the dark to confess to you – not that you were oblivious to his feelings as it stood now, but he wanted the opportunity to properly tell you.  The opportunity to ask for your…. courtship formally, and treat you with the respect he had been raised to treat his partner with.  Not with secret hook ups, and raging hormones like a boy, he was a man, and he wanted to be a better one for you.

 **The Mechanist** : “Alright Isabel, see ya later!” Sole called as she headed to the main lift.  

Isabel looked up from her clipboard, pausing whatever discussion she was having with Sparks to wave at her.  Sole smiled as she watched Isabel turn back to Sparks, gesturing emphatically to the clipboard; it was like this every time Sole returned to the lair.  Same old Isabel, in the same old green jumpsuit.  Every so often there would be motor oil streaked across her forehead, or perhaps along her forearm in her carelessness.  At the same time, everything had changed in Isabel; Sole remembered how skittish she had been in the weeks immediately following the end of ‘the Mechanist’.  How withdrawn she had been; of course, her work had continued, but it had been a ghost of the idealist woman that had carried it out.  Now she seemed better; healing if not totally healed yet.  She smiled more, although Sole still had never managed to get her out of the stuffy workshop.

“Hey.” Sole paused, and Isabel looked up again, just missing the thousand-watt idea that shone over her head.  “Why don’t you come with me?  Come get some fresh air, and see a bit of the good you’re doing?”

Isabel’s eyes darkened, and for a moment she looked like the old Isabel again; her face gaunt, and dark eyes pitted like the inside of a grave.

“We could scav for some spare parts too,” Sole suggested, trying to upkeep her cheerful disposition.

“I suppose I have been a bit low on scrap metal…” Isabel offered.

She wasn’t an idiot after all, she knew what Sole was trying to do, and after the second chance she had awarded her – not only at doing good in the Commonwealth, but at companionship, and her life’s work, how could she refuse?

“Not to mention,  _someone_  seems to have misplaced my ball peen hammer.” Isabel shot a sharp look towards Sparks, before cuffing of her sleeves, and heading over to where Sole was waiting.

“That’s great!” Sole grinned. “There’s lots of useful junk lying around out there.”

She brought her hand down on the giant red button, and the pair waited as the lift descended.

-

Emerging out into the crisp, Autumn, late-afternoon, Isabel’s face instantly lit up; it had been a while since she’d stepped out like this.  The wind blew showers of leaves in varying shades of red and oranges, scattering some around as others crunched underfoot.  It was pleasantly chilled; cold enough to see faint puffs of white smoke where they exhaled, but not so much to deter their walk. Isabel and Sole set off down the disjointed sidewalk, giant slabs of concrete occasionally so crooked, they jutted out of the ground vertically, like snaggleteeth.  They walked at a bumbling pace, going nowhere in particular, and slow enough to notice any useful materials to collect.  The walk was peaceful and mostly silent, with some commentary sprinkled in intermittently, regarding the strange pre-war trinkets they passed.  A one-eyed monkey with cymbals.  A typewriter with a chipping teal finish.  A soap dispenser that looked alien to a Commonwealth that seldom saw anything resembling a hot bath.

What really caught Isabel’s eye though, was the crucified remains of an old train car, sitting atop a pile of rubble like a large, silver dragon.

“Wow,” she whispered, her mouth agape as she took in the pre-war beast, now dead for going on two-hundred years.  “What was that?”

“Looks like it used to be a train car.  We used to use these for transportation.”

“Like cars?” Isabel asked curiously.

“Nah, these were faster, and much bigger.  See, usually a couple of these things –“ Sole gestured to the car “—were hooked up to one another, and carried tons of people to where they wanted to go.”

“Huh,” Isabel murmured, circling the train car and its stash of debris widely.

“And see those over there?” Sole nodded to the section of train tracks laying a couple of yards away. “That would be the equivalent of roads, but or trains.”

At the mention of tracks, Isabel leaned down to get a peek at the underside of the car, by the front end that hung suspended in the air.

“Fascinating…”

Sole was quiet, trying to give Isabel the room to be inquisitive and inspired by the treasure they had found.  She watched as Isabel circled the train again, before stepping up in an attempt to ascend the pile of rubble.

“Careful,” Sole warned.

The pile seemed sturdy enough; with its gnarled metal roots, and foundation of industrial corpses.  But all it took was one slip of metal for the entire train car to slide down and flatten Isabel.  Sole followed Isabel cautiously as she clambered up the junk pile, and took a tentative step onto the metal steps leading up to the train car aisle.  Sole had been prepared to hear the creak of metal, had been ready to snag her hand at Isabel’s collar and jerk her out of the way of the oncoming train, like a sci-fi twist on an old country western classic.  But the scream of tired metal never came, and as Isabel disappeared around the corner, Sole’s curiosity got the best of her.

She climbed in after the woman, rounding the same corner and found Isabel peeking up over the back of one of the cushioned seats.

“Get a load of this!” Isabel’s smile beamed, and Sole was powerless to its glow.

She couldn’t help but grin back, as she took to the seats across the narrow aisle.  Some of the leather had chipped away, letting the spongy innards of the plush cushioning come away in chunks.

“You used to ride these?”

Sole laughed. “Yeah, in all its piss-smelling, over-crowded glamor.”

Isabel shook her head.

“You probably think I’m nuts, but man – I couldn’t even imagine moving in something so big.  Was it fast?  Was it scary?”

“Pretty fast,” Sole admitted. “It shook a lot too, but you got used to it, so it wasn’t scary.”

“Wow!” Isabel gushed again, sighing dreamily.

Sole’s smile softened as humor faded from it; now all that remained was the soft, basking pleasure she took in seeing Isabel as carefree as she was.  When Isabel’s wandering gaze returned home to Sole, her face seemed to grow in reverence, to match Sole’s.

“This is really amazing. I’m glad I came out with you today.”

Sole’s cheeks went bright, although her smile remained effortlessly fixed on her face.

“Yeah, me too.”

In the moments of silence followed, several things happened.  The first, is that some unspoken, understanding broke upon the both of them; they knew for certain what was coming next, even if earlier today, such a notion would’ve rendered them both flustered and dismissive in its far-fetchedness.  The next thing, was that both of them seemed to lean forwards.  Had the first thing not transpired, the strange, lips-first motion would’ve appeared vastly out of context.  Their eyes began to flutter shut the nearer they drew to each other.  Sole knew enough to tilt her head slightly to the right, and when their lips finally met, it was like the prongs in a lock clicking into place; by design, and committal.

Their lips melded together, soft and warm, like hot wax.  Sole was so intrigued by the sensation, that she hadn’t even realized when their fingers had reached up to tangle in each other’s hair.  For something so impromptu, it felt so right.  Sole remembered a conversation she’d had with Dr. Amari once; about how personal trinkets and photos could jog an amnesiacs memory.  This kiss felt like the catalyst to the rush of emotion that swelled in Sole; images of her and Isabel flitted through her mind, like a movie at warpspeed.

She and Isabel walking with their fingers twined, their joined hands knocking against their sides.  She and Isabel poring over a newfound issue of _Tesla Science Magazine_.  She and Isabel leaning over a milkshake with two straws; the taste of strawberry on their tongue, sweet as the lady love she shared it with.  An entire lifetime of improvements had played in Sole as the kiss finally broke.  Their eyes bright, and faces red, they said nothing, for fear that their girlish shyness would send the precious moment flying like dust in the wind.

Despite the fresh embarrassment that flushed through her; a natural byproduct of first kisses and new loves, Sole couldn’t have been more eager to proceed; the fantasies her imagination painted for her just a hair’s breadth out of reach.  Sole took the leap of faith in reached to thread her fingers through Isabel’s own.  She fixed her gaze on their joined hands, splaying the fingers experimentally, and tracing patterns.  Isabel’s other hand came to rest atop Sole’s, and the credits rolled.

 **X6-88** : You settled into your sleeping bag, as X6 did in his own, right next to yours.

“Goodnight X6.”

X6 didn’t answer.

You turned over to face him.

“X6?”

He was staring up at the stars, through a giant hole in the dilapidated roof.

“You’re a million miles away.”

“On the contrary ma’am, I’m right here, next to you.”  He didn’t skip a beat, his eyes never leaving the sky.

“What are you thinking about?”

“This night,” he said, “being here, next to you, ma’am.”  

X6 turned to look at you, and you could’ve sworn his voice took on a softer timbre.  

“Mm.  The stars are pretty.” You remarked, your eyes not leaving the man next to you.

“They are.”

“You know, before the bombs dropped, there were so many lights everywhere, because of all the buildings, streetlights, cars…we could hardly see the stars.”

X6 blinked.

“So, I suppose that’s one good thing about…. this situation.  I mean, just look at all these stars.”

It made you a little breathless.

“It just changes the entire mood, doesn’t it?” you continued.

“Makes you feel hopeful.  Wanting.  Like anything is possible- “

You felt something warm and soft on your cheek. It took you a moment to realize it was X6’s hand.

“X6?”

You asked again, puzzled by what would have been obvious coming from anyone other than him.

In the next moment, he was pressing his lips against yours.  Perfectly still, no tongue, no teeth, not so much as a twitch.  Clean.  No muss, no fuss.  Very much like X6.

Still though, the shock of him kissing you at all rattled you to your core; you probably wouldn’t have been able to handle anything more.  X6 knew he wouldn’t have, but he’d never let you know that.

“Goodnight ma’am.”  He turned over, so that his back was facing you.

“Goodnight,” you breathed, now ensnared with the stars above like X6 had been just a few minutes before.  

And for the first time since arriving in Commonwealth, you thought,  _yeah, this is a good night._


	2. Companions React to their First Kiss with m!SoSu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-petty
> 
> Also; this work is not complete, as such, there are some companions missing from it.

**Cait:**

Sole stumbled in through the door in such a bedraggled state, Cait was surprised Clair even let him in.  His hair was strewn in matted clumps his clothes were caked in blood and dirt. Based off of his stance, he was favoring his right foot.  He limped into the hotel room, and confirmed Cait’s suspicions.  Cait leapt up from the bed and was at his side in an instance, slinging one of his arms over her shoulder as her foot kicked the door shut behind them.  She could feel the warm thrumming energy beneath his skin – his restless wolf’s blood pulled his muscle fibers taut and broke them down again as his body shifted and scattered.  Cait glimpsed the clock on the dresser; about half past two.  That meant that the worst of his transformation was probably over, and his body would probably be simmering back down into its humanity.  No more grinding of bone and splintered skin – just a raging fever, and the wounds of wherever Lycaon had taken him that night.

They crossed into the dingy, little bathroom and Cait dumped him into the bathtub as gently as she can; but this proves difficult even if she’s a woman who’s done an abundance of lifting bodies in her life.  Pain riddled his compromised system; human and wolf battled for  dominance already married to a tight schedule and dictated by the waxing and waning moon.  His body stiffened with pain, and he clamped his jaw so tightly shut that the cord-like tendons in his neck stood out, pulled taut like piano-wire.

Cait unbuttoned his white dress shirt, easing it open and off him.  Blood and sweat made it cling to his flesh; raw and tender from the transformation he’d underwent a mere hour ago.  Her eyes scanned him, trying to find the worst of the damage first. The bruise shading his cheekbone and split lip didn’t worry her as much as the gash on his left bicep did.  It was split wide, like an angry, red snarl. Cait could clearly see flesh and fat stream with steady crimson as the blood flowed from the wound.  Cait turned to the first-aid box tacked to the wall above. Triumph, fresh and quick, struck her as she dumped the contents into her arms – bandages, rubbing alcohol, and a sewing kit.  No Stimpaks or Med-X. They learned early on into Sole’s wolfhood that the strange blood running through him didn’t take well to such heady chemicals.  They’d be playing old-school doctor today, Cait grimaced, although she was grateful, she had taken it upon herself to stock up their supplies earlier that evening.  He tended not to get nearly as messed up as he had the first few months of his transformation, but the Commonwealth was a dangerous place.

“Alrigh’ now, hold still ye big brute,” she muttered.

Cait grabbed at a rag hanging on a rusted hook.  It was clean…enough.  She pressed it solidly to Sole’s wound with one hand, the other braced firmly against his chest when he jolted at the touch.

“Easy, we’ve gotta stop the bleedin’.”

Blood crept into the fabric, seeping through as she pressed it firmly to the wound.  Cait was worried he’d bleed through it, and her eyes swept pessimistically around the bathroom; she should’ve gotten cause, or scraps of fabric or  _something_.  When she pulled the towel away though, the wound had clotted somewhat, the river of blood now just some miscellaneous spotting.  Cait palmed the bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“This is gonna sting a bit now.”

Sole cracked an eye open, a wily yellow flecking in with his natural eye-color.

“I know the drill,” he whispered hoarsely.

Cait sighed. “I know ye do, but it’s not goin’ ta tickle, an’ I’d want warnin’.”

Cait splashed a generous amount of rubbing alcohol onto the wound, and he moaned in pain, his body seizing forwards again.  This time as soon as she set the bottle down, she had both hands easing Sole backwards into his splayed position.

“I know it hurts, I know,” she murmured, with uncharacteristic warmth.

He didn’t answer, just let out a terse hiss through gritted teeth, as he let her push him back.  One of his hands reached up to grip her wrist tightly, and Cait had to remind herself that he was no longer capable of snapping it in half, lest she flinch away.  His grasp was surprisingly gentle, despite the stiffness that ran through the rest of him.  His fingers folded gently around her alabaster skin, and anchored her to him.  Cait could tell the pain was ebbing away when his jaw unclenched and his chest heaved a few times, with a few loose breaths.  Sole’s heart slowed beneath the pads of her fingertips, to a more human pace.

Cait’s fingers brushed against the sewing kit laying on the tile floor.  She hesitated.

“This next part –“

“-is going to hurt even more?” He offered her a strained smile as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple, “Got it, sweetheart.”

Any other time and Cait would’ve chewed him out, saying she wasn’t his sweet anything, but seeing him in his current state, she could only smile bleakly back at him.  Her mouth flattened into a tight line as she threaded the needle, her hands strangely calm despite the way her gut twisted at what she’d have to do next.  Then Cait readied the needle at the edge of Sole’s ragged, puckered flesh and she pushed the needle through.  Sole half-convulsed before remembering that he had to keep still.  His groan opened up into a scream as Cait pushed the needle through the other flap of skin, and pulled, steeling herself as she cinched the flesh tight.  She moved methodically, and slowly, careful not to rip at the already friable skin.  Sole never stopped screaming, Cait never asked him to.  When she was about half way through the wound, three solid thuds sounded through the wall opposite of the bathroom.  Cait grabbed a wad of bandages and stuffed it into Sole’s mouth to muffle him; the less attention they drew to themselves, was probably better.

Sole’s voice curdled Cait’s blood even through the bandages, until he’d spent his voice fully.  She was on the last stitch by now, and the bandages fell from Sole’s mouth, trailing a string of saliva with it as it did.  Cait visibly relaxed; his labored breathing a welcome development from his caterwauling.  Her gaze flicked up to his face, and she saw him watching her.  His eyes had lost their feral luster; there was no wolf left in them.

“Y’know, it’s probably gonna scar somethin’ nasty.  A real doctor would’ve done a better job.” Cait knotted the pieces of thread at the end of the wound.

Sole winced as she tugged them tightly once more, before grabbing the scissors from the sewing kit, and snipping off the excess.

“No, no doctors…” Sole muttered as he adjusted his position to sit more upright in the tub.

“I know, I know, I’m jus’ sayin’.  Expect a scar.”

“Good, scars are cool.  The ladies love scars,” Sole teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“An’ who told ye that?” Cait cracked a smile.

His warm fingers caught her elbow, the calloused pads of his fingers rasped against her skin.  She looked intently at him.  There was a different sort of gleam to his eyes.  His fingers skimmed gently up her arm, trailing fire, and a rising thrill welled in her chest.  He seemed to be growing closer as his fingertips trailed higher; over the dimple where her shoulder met her deltoid, up the sensitive column of her neck.  Her eyes narrowed as his fingers slid into her hair and his head tilted, his lips tucking against hers.  His grip on her was strong; anchoring her to him, although Cait wouldn’t dream of pulling away on her own.  Her own hands came up to rest at his cheeks, fingers splayed, and thumb smoothing across the stubbly expanse.  He hummed reverently into the kiss at the feeling, nipping sharply at her lips and smoothing his tongue over where he’d bitten.

He was not gentle with her, and Cait couldn’t tell if it was the full moon edging his nerves, poking the animal that was usually so tightly caged inside him, or the fact that he felt she wasn’t a gentle person.  Either way, it spurned her to meet his roughness as her own lips moved fervently against his.

When he broke the kiss, Cait’s cheeks flared, but it did little to soften her daggered demeanor.

Sole grinned like a cat hiding a canary in his mouth.

“Told you the ladies liked scars.”

Cait rolled her eyes. “Piss off.”

**Curie:**

Curie’s busy hand ceaselessly scrawled as Curie swallowed and fixed her gaze on already complete form, searching for something, anything. A missing dot on an ‘i’ or an ‘n’ that looked like an ‘h’. Something. There was nothing and she swallowed again. Since when did she become so conscious of swallowing? No matter. She took a deep breath, set her pen on the desk, and finally let her eyes settle on the man seated in the makeshift waiting room. He smiled at her.  Even from her limited peripheral vision, she could tell that his ankle rested atop his knee, and he flipped through a magazine; the brightly colored pages popped vividly with his leather jacket and armor.  _Hot Rodder_  magazine, if Curie were to venture a guess; she recalled him lamenting about the simpler pleasures he missed from pre-war times – the white picket fence, Sunday afternoons spent tinkering with his Cherry-red 2071 Cadillac, and a cold beer waiting for him inside.  Another hazarded, shy look confirmed how well she knew him.  It had only costed Curie a regular heartbeat and dry palms.

With a sense of horror that had the decency to wait until she was done with her paperwork before crashing into her, Curie realized she couldn’t put off her appointment with Sole any longer.

She cleared her throat, trying to shake the jitters from her voice. “Sole, I’m ready to see you now.” Curie smiled politely.

Sole closed the magazine, and set it down on the small, couch-side table before rising to his feet and grinning at her.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice Curie.” The corners of Sole’s eyes crinkled endearingly, and Curie’s wooden smile melted into a genuine delight that made her cheeks glow.  

“Of course.” Curie turned quickly around and busied her hands with the idle medical equipment sitting at her desk. “Please ‘ave a seat, on zhe examination table.”

There was a rustling sound as Sole shimmied up onto the examination table; consisting of an island in what had been the kitchen of the old Sanctuary home, and a mat adhered to the top of it.  Curie willed her cheeks to stop burning as she palmed her stethoscope.  Tucking the earbuds into her ears, she tried to ignore how cornered by her thoughts the muteness of the outside world made her feel.  When she turned back to the man on the counter, the red she had dispersed from her face came back with a vengeance.

“ _Mon dieu_! What are you  _doing_?”

Sole paused, his hand freezing at the buttons midway down his torso.

“I…don’t you need me to-“

“No, I can hear your ‘eartbeat just find with your shirt on,” Curie said wryly, dropping her gaze far below his exposed skin.   _And I’ll bet you can hear mine just fine as it is._

Sole noticed the woman’s bashfulness and couldn’t help but crack a small smile in response.  His fingers reversed their path, climbing back up, and redoing his buttons.

“My bad.”

“Eet eez already forgotten.”

Curie waited until Sole’s hand had reached the buttons at his collarbone to try and move in again.

Sole noticed the slight tremble in her hand, as she raised the disk of the stethoscope to his chest.  Curie paused, her gaze flying to some distant point in space as she listened intently to Sole’s heartbeat.  Steady, strong, although perhaps a little quicker than normal.

“So,” Sole began, exhaling deeply, “any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“ _Monsieur_ , I’m trying to listen to your ‘eart.”

“Right, sorry.”

Curie shifted the disk a few inches to the left, and paused, listening again for a few moments.

“But no, I don’t have any plans.  I hadn’t thought zhe people of zhe Commonwealth still observed the ‘oliday.  Deep breath, please.”

Sole obliged, and Curie shifted the disk again.  Sole watched her as she listened, wondering if she thought his quickening pulse was default for him, or if she could decipher its true nature.  Curie pulled back and removed the ear pieces so that her stethoscope hung comfortably around her neck.

“Your ‘eart sounds just fine.  So zhen, why don’t you tell me what brought you here today?”

Sole shrugged, “Just thought it was time for a routine checkup, since I’ve been in the Commonwealth for a couple of months now.”

“A sudden change in lifestyle is a great reason to get a checkup,” Curie agreed.

“And then I figured ‘hey, while I’m out, I should see if I can find my valentine.’” Sole’s voice never wavered in its levity, although his ears tinged a flustered red.

“And did you find it?” Curie turned to the file cabinet and pulled a drawer open.

Lithe fingers began to walk through the tabs, searching for Sole’s name.

“That depends – are you willing to accept the responsibility?”

Curie’s fingers froze, and embarrassment, hot and sudden flashed through her.  It felt as if everything inside of her had liquified to make room for her heartbeat; which felt so massive and domineering that she could feel it rattle her bones and hear the blood it shunted roaring in her ears.  Curie spun around on her heel to face Sole, who was grinning sheepishly at her.

“Well, I – “she began awkwardly  “—I’m probably not qualified for s-such a position!”

Butterflies ravaged the inside of her stomach, suspending her breath in a way that required conscious thought for her to use it.

“Don’t you think that’s for me to decide?” Sole asked teasingly.

“Well I – I wouldn’t know what to do! Zhis is zhe first time I’ve ever had such feelings,” Curie’s voice cracked. “I-I’ve never done human things of zhis nature!”

“Like?”

Curie flushed. “I’ve never been kissed before!  I’ve never even been on a date!”

Sole was quiet, his thoughts tinkering with Curie’s admissions.  Curie took his silence as judgement and succumbing to her extreme embarrassment buried her face into her hands.  After what felt like years, her heartbeat had slowed to rate her old colleagues may have deemed ‘normal for someone with a history of high blood pressure’ as opposed to ‘someone in a hypertensive crisis’.  Her fingers parted a smidge, allowing her to peek outwards to Sole on the exam table, only to see him startlingly close.

Curie stood statuesquely, trapped between the object of her affections and the file cabinet, long forgotten by now.  Somewhere, Sole reached to take her wrists gently in his hands and pulled them so that he could look on her face fully.  Curie barely registered the touch, so overwhelmed with the proximity of Sole, and the intensity of his eyes as they held her, that she just didn’t have the capacity to focus on anything else at the moment.

“I can think of one thing on that list we can cross off right now,” he murmured, his voice low.

Curie’s eyes widened, her joints locking her into place.

“Okay,” she squeaked.

Sole leaned in with a naturalness that made it seem like it was gravity pulling Curie in; no rhyme or reason to it, it just was.  Sole reached to gently place his hands at Curie’s elbows; bracing her up, without trapping her.  Curie was grateful for the gesture; her knees having gone weak as soon as Sole was close enough for her to feel his warm breath at her lips.  Curie’s eyes fluttered shut right as Sole moved in, and she was sure her heart might’ve burst the instance his lips brushed against hers.  Her stomach swooped as every fiber in her being seemed to become hyper aware of Sole’s swirling scent, the feel of his slightly chapped lips on hers, his grip on her – firm and warm.

The kiss only lasted a few dizzying moments, but Sole’s hold on Curie lingered even as he pulled back.  One hand gently rose to cup her cheek, swiping the pad of his thumb tenderly against her cheekbone.

“There.  You’ve now been properly kissed.”

Curie’s face sparked pink at Sole’s directness.

“Thank you,” she choked out.

“Now, for that second thing…would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”

“Very much so,” Curie said a little breathlessly.

“Alright then —” Sole leaned in to plant a chaste kiss at her cheek “—it’s a date.”

Then as mysteriously as he arrived that morning for his impromptu checkup, he was gone, leaving Curie reeling at the anticipation of what that evening might hold.

 **Deacon** : 

It was on a quiet evening that Sole sat reading  _Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage_  in a nest of pillows and blankets he’d expertly piled together by the musing dance of candlelight flame.  The rain was falling in soft whispers over the Commonwealth, and the soft drone was perfect traction for Sole to bury himself in the story.  In a cat-like fashion, Deacon crept in soundlessly; it had become second nature to him in his line of work.  He had made it halfway across Sole’s living room, before the latter noticed, stiffening when he heard the sound of the house settling around Deacon’s meticulously placed step.  Sole had lived in this house for longer than most lived in theirs; he knew every creaky spot, and scuff on the wall.  His gaze flicked up to where Deacon was perched on the balls of his feet, in an exaggerated tip-toeing stance.  

“Aw damn, you caught me!” Deacon grinned.

“I know, just your luck.” Sole replied dryly.

Deacon noticed the book cradled in Sole’s palms.

“And what’ve we got here?”

With a child like spryness, Deacon dove down into the pile of cushions, settling in close enough to Sole so that he could look on, propping himself up by his elbows.  Sole shot him a look but nevertheless lowered his hands and let the book bow more deeply, cracking the spine.

“ _Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage._ ”

“Huh, interesting choice.” Deacon rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

“You don’t approve?”

“It’s not that,” Deacon began, his eyes narrowed pensively, as if he was struggling to find the right words. “It’s just…this guy’s life doesn’t work out, so he goes on a trip as if that’ll solve everything.”

Sole stared at Deacon, eyebrows furrowed incredulously.  

“Seriously?”

Deacon shrugged obliviously.

“Yeah, it just seems a bit frivolous.  Typical ‘romanticism’ stuff.”

“Hey now, what do you have against romanticism?” Sole demanded.

Deacon kept his face impassive as he examined a cuticle.  The dismissive gesture sparked a flash of irritation through Sole.

“It’s alright…it’s just…not quite as substantial as some of the stuff from the Enlightenment.”

“Oh yeah? Give me one good example.” Sole challenged.

Deacon paused for a moment.

“ _Emile_ ; it details Rousseau’s idealized idea of the ‘natural man’ portrayed by –“

“I  _know_  what it is.” Sole snapped, “and bullshit.”

Deacon made an offended face.

“Bullshit?  It’s social commentary wrapped up in a thought-provoking story!  But sure, let’s err on the side of the story of our dude, Harold, going on a bender.”

Sole snorted, “If you think a pilgrimage is the same as a bender, then no wonder you can’t comprehend the exquisiteness of this piece.”

Deacon raised his pinky finger mockingly as he lifted Sole’s mug of lukewarm tea to his lips.

“Oh yes, yes, such an  _exquisite_   _specimen of human artistry_!  It’s absolutely baffling, how little my limited mind can comprehend! It renders me absolutely dumb.” He said in an affected manner, raising the mug in a toasting gesture, before setting it down.

Sole raised an eyebrow before he aimed a teasing punch at Deacon’s shoulder.  Quick as a whip, Deacon caught Sole’s hand in his wrist.

“ _My stars Sir_! Such behavior is most unbecoming of you!” Deacon’s continued in his exaggerated, snooty tone just in time to catch Sole’s second attempt at a blow in his other hand.

Sole continued to struggle against his hold; deceptively strong in the spy’s wiry grip.  

“Knock it off!” Sole laughed and Deacon joined him.

When both of their laughter had died down, they were left in a vacuum of the previous moment’s levity, with the proximity between the two men daunting, and Deacon’s grip on Sole becoming increasingly hot with the arrival of Sole’s embarrassment.  

“Uh, I – “ The moment snatched Deacon’s breath away, rendering him speechless as it teetered precariously on the brink of a line they had dared not cross before.

As the moment seemed to stretch into an eternity, Sole found himself the Orpheus to Deacon’s Eurydice; and he couldn’t resist the urge to look, despite the warning way his face itched with chagrin.  In the low light and bloated silence, Deacon’s pale irises peered vividly from behind his sunglasses, and Sole thought he might turn to stone when his breath hung suspended at his lungs.

Deacon took advantage of Sole’s stillness, and leaned in.  It wasn’t untraceably slow like the stuffy romance novels made such moments out to be, or the hormone-infested fever trashier derivatives painted it to be either. It was simply instinct.  Deacon watched Sole, who watched him back; and as automatically as breathing he released Sole’s wrists to brace one large palm on either side of Sole’s face, before pulling the man to him, and kissing him full on the mouth.  What the great writers and poets and artists and playwrights of the pre-war eras had gotten right was how the world stood still in those moments when they watched each other and wanted.  Then it seemed to spin in reverse the second Deacon’s lips brushed against Sole’s; everything had changed.  Sole let his eyes shut as Deacon’s mouth worked against his, as smoldering as the candlelight, and soft as the patter of rain against the windows.  Somewhere in the mess of lips and soft caresses, Sole had reached to clasp his hands around Deacon’s head, anchoring the man to him.

When Deacon finally broke the kiss and released Sole, the world spun back on it’s usual, boring axis,  and Sole found his thrills in Deacon’s ecstatic eyes.  

“We, uh –“ Sole panted, cheeks bright.

“Yeah, that just happened.” Deacon agreed, just as breathless.

“So…” Sole averted his gaze and scratched awkwardly at the back of his head.

Deacon slung his arm around Sole’s shoulder and leaned more deeply into his frame.  His eyes were fixed on the open book balanced clumsily on Sole’s lap now, though the pink at his face was more telling.

“So,” Deacon cleared his throat, “where were we?”

Sole was asking himself the same thing.

 **Hancock** : 

When Hancock fished Sole from the Poseidon Reservoir the man looked bloodless and weighed three times what he should’ve, his dead weight further bogged down by his sopping wet gear.  The ghoul shucked him onto his back, and removed the more formidable of the gear, with the vain thought that perhaps it would be enough encouragement for his lungs to draw in breath again.  When it wasn’t, dread squeezed his heart with numbing clarity; Sole might not come back from this.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Hancock muttered, his hands reaching up to press tersely to his temples, willing himself to devise a way to save him.His memory was buried in the fog of chems, but this was important.  He spread the haze like Moses did the Red Sea, his task of biblical proportions in his mind.  Dread’s feral grip gave his heart a lofty squeeze again, shunting ice water into his bloodstream.  Then he was a kid again, human again. His skin was smooth, and peachy, his eyes a clarifying blue.  A few blonde ringlets hung around his face, while the rest were tied back into a loose ponytail. If memory served him right, he was about twelve.  John looked to the side, and with a grin on his face, waved his arm enthusiastically.

“Hey!”

Hancock and John heard a faint answer, before the sound of footsteps drew near, and a younger McDonough appeared.  This version of his brother still had all his hair, and was still with his trademark doughiness, but was without the serpentine smile he donned as of late.  Hancock hadn’t bothered revisiting his childhood in years; he wondered if he’d even mentioned this memory, as faint as the phantom rays of sunlight as they danced off his younger self’s face, to Sole.  Hancock vowed to once Sole woke up.

Memories of the day came hurtling back to Hancock when he watched John and McDonough race down to the same reservoir, he would fish Sole out of nearly forty years later.  It was only a matter of time now until his idiot brother would fall in and flounder; being Diamond City boys, they’d never learned how to swim – never had to, until today.  Hancock could practically feel the cool rush of water around his legs and the way the fabric hung around him, as John waded through the shallows to try and pull his brother to shore.  It had taken some long branches, and floating drift-debris, but after what felt like way too long for a boy to be underwater, John managed to get an unconscious McDonough back to shore.  

This is the part that mattered now, and Hancock made sure to pay rapt attention.  He’d had to breathe life back into his brother, had to reintroduce pumping to his dormant heart.  It took a few tries; like restarting a generator after a repair, and afterwards, McDonough jackknifed to a sitting position and vomited clear water onto the cement.

The memory dispersed as Hancock ran to Sole.  Had he gotten paler? He looked smaller. His lips were a suffocating lavender when Hancock pressed his own ruined mouth against them.  Hancock stacked his hands atop one another and thrust the heel of them into Sole’s chest. He did a few short compressions, keeping a steady beat as he did so, before he pressed his mouth to Sole’s again.  Rinse and repeat. He lost count of how many times he repeated the process; he was too busy counting the heartbeats he willed into Sole.

“Breathe, damn it,” Hancock growled under his breath, which was pulled from his lungs like the trigger on his shotgun.

Sole was supposed to be sitting up now, dazed and uncomfortable but alive, he was supposed to be hunched over as he spat the mealy reservoir water out, and then he was supposed to make one of his smart-ass comments, something about how if people were meant to swim…

But Sole never sat up, his heart only worked as hard as Hancock would let it, and when the golden dusk chilled to an inky sky that matched the dark, dancing waves of the reservoir, the ghoul ceased his furtive motions.  He bowed his head as night fell on the Commonwealth. Sole still had not sat up.

 **MacCready** :

If someone had asked MacCready what he’d planned on doing today, the last thing he would’ve answered was pining for Sole.  Of course, if he was being honest, that’s what he did every day, but he sure as heck wouldn’t have answered that.  

It had started out like any other day; he and Sole had been up at daybreak.  They had cobbled together a meager breakfast of cold, canned beans over a simpering fire that barely waited for them to finish before it had let itself out. Then, it had been back on the road, with not a complaint to be spared between the two of them.  It was like MacCready said; he took no issue with being on the road, so long as there was a pile of caps at the end of it, (and as of late, Sole beside him, but he always omitted that part when talking to the man in question.)  It had been pleasantly cool that day, and the air smelled ripe with rain; fresh, cleansing even.  The leaves rustled wetly underfoot as they picked their way through the bracken, although MacCready wasn’t entirely sure where to.  When noon hit, they found themselves approaching a small, tin can of a building, its most notable feature being the tall radio tower that stood beside it.

The tiny green light glowed optimistically at the tower, and the chipping letters spelling out  _WRVR Broadcast Station_  on the side resurfaced a hodgepodge of memories in Sole, involving a tower, and lots of super mutants.  A wide grin spread across Sole’s mouth, and MacCready noticed it immediately.

“You know this place?”

“No, but I think I know the man inside.”

The orange, metal door opened readily, and the inside was warm, bright, and full of noise.  From the other side of the glass window, inside the recording studio, sat Rex Goodman.  He was balancing the desk microphone on his lap, as he prattled on into it in a cacophony of different sorts of voices.  Sole didn’t recognize any of them; but he pieced together that he was probably attempting a one man show.  MacCready cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

Upon recognizing Sole through the glass, Rex stumbled over his words, and issued a hasty sign off.  He paused the mic feed and exited the sound booth.

“As I live and breathe…” he gushed, reaching to grasp Sole’s shoulders.

MacCready watched with interest as Sole made no move to shrug away from the man’s touch; he was used to his flair for dramatics by now.

“Hey Rex, we were in the neighborhood and thought we’d say ‘hi’.”

“Well hello!  Yes, hello, hello!” he turned to MacCready, and gave a half bow, “Pleased to meet your acquaintance; I’m Rex Goodman, perhaps the greatest radio voice the Commonwealth has seen, and I know who you are already – I see you’re quite accomplished in your field as well.”

“Erhm…” MacCready forced a smile, and Rex laughed good naturedly.  

“Now, you and your friend have actually come at a most opportune time!” Rex announced.

“Oh yeah?  And why’s that?”

“You caught me right as I’m in the process of seeking new talent for the next installment of the Shakespearean portion of my show –  _The Bard at WRVR_.”

Sole raised his eyebrows.

“This week we’re doing a classic scene from  _Romeo and Juliet_ , and it seems like I’ve just found my Romeo,” Rex winked at Sole, “and my, well,  _Julian_ ,” he turned to smile at MacCready.

Sole shot him an apologetic look.   _Sorry,_  he mouthed, around Rex’s shoulder.  MacCready’s lips tightened, pulling his smile so wide, it looked more like he was passing gas, than grinning.

“You would make such a great Julian, the perfect co-lead to Sole, the strapping, young man you are!”

“I uh,” MacCready’s eyes flicked from Sole, back to Rex’s eager expression, “I can’t read,” he finished lamely.

“No worries, no worries at all!  I’ll help you with your lines!  Let’s just get you boys in there and see what sort of magic happens.”

Rex ushered Sole and MacCready into the neighboring booth; this one without stools, but with two mics already floating down from the ceiling from thin, sturdy wires.  MacCready was still grimacing, and Sole, while sorry he’d gotten MacCready wrapped up in Rex’s antics too, wasn’t so bothered by them himself.  Rex handed Sole a copy of the script, copied in his neat handwriting from a copy of  _Romeo and Juliet_  he’d since lost at Trinity Tower.

“MacCready, it’s your line first!” Rex whispered, before shutting the door, and gesturing towards George Cooper, who was manning the controls outside the booth.

From outside the glass, Rex was gesturing animatedly, as if trying to signal MacCready ‘Julian’s’ lines, in layman’s sign language.  Cheeks burning, MacCready pretended not to see him.  From his right, Sole elbowed gently at his arm, and offered him the script. It was while accepting it, that MacCready noticed despite not protesting to Rex’s idea in the slightest, Sole’s own cheeks had flushed.

“ _Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss._ ”

MacCready delivered the lines woodenly; while he was at least minimally literate, he had never read Shakespeare before.  The strange language felt alien on his tongue and the combination of the words strung together no meaning he’d ever intended before; a foreign language if there ever was one to him.  Somewhere in the midst of his delivery, his voice caught as he felt something warm, and slightly calloused slip into the hand not holding the script.  It wasn’t until his line was finished and Sole began his delivery, that he realized it was his hand.  He stiffened, his fingers flexing around Sole, who took this as affirmation, and squeezed gently back.  MacCready’s ears reddened.  

They went back and forth with their lines, MacCready forcing himself to latch onto each word – though they meant nothing to him as they were, he clung to them in the hopes that they would spare him from Sole’s inquisitive stare.

When Sole spoke, his voice was tepid wood, firm, sturdy, and tender still, like warm, summer rain.  The strange rhetoric fell from Sole’s lips like they were never meant to leave.  He owned the words as if he’d written them himself.  He wasn’t delivering lines at all – he was speaking to MacCready.

“ _Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take_ ,”  

MacCready’s eyes flitted upwards to watch Sole, just in time to see him moving in as he trailed off. His pose was strange and deliberate – lips first – and while MacCready had seen it before, he couldn’t recognize it on Sole, until he found himself matching it.  

When their lips finally touched, both had forgotten they were reading for a show.  Their lips met briefly, and they parted, only to catch the meaningful glint in each other’s eyes, and start in again.  It was the frantic pounding of Rex’s hands against the glass, that jolted them from their momentary stupor.

“We’re in the middle of a show _!_ ”

Ah, right.

“ _Thus, from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”_  Sole continued, his voice like steel wool.

From behind the glass George was staring intently at the soundboard.  Rex had his hands clutched to his chest, as he watched on, sparkly eyed. For once, MacCready thought he could sort of understand the thespian; Sole just had that effect on people. Anne had stepped out of her sewing room to watch as well, her cheeks flushed, and eyebrows cinched towards the center; she at least, obviously knew how this ended.

But for MacCready, it didn’t feel like an ending at all.

“ _Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!  Give me my sin again._ ”

MacCready wasn’t familiar with this play, but he still knew to expect Sole’s lips as he turned to the right again.

 **Gage** : 

Sole was lounging on the plush duvet of his bed when Gage got back.  The sun had already sank below the horizon, and the pinpricks of light nestled in the satiny night sky were blotted out by the low swinging lanterns that crisscrossed throughout NukaWorld.  Sole didn’t bother getting up to look at the sound of the door; Gage was the only one who passed so freely into the summit of the Fizztop Grille.  Gentle clinking drew nearer, followed by the sharp knocking of metal against the wood floor; even with Sole’s eyes fluttered gently shut, he could clearly see Gage shedding his cagey, metal armor for the day.  This had come to be a part of their routine ever since Colter’s space had become Sole’s, save for the couch, which was Gage’s.  Sole could hear Gage sigh, punctuated by the creak of the furniture as Gage relaxed into the couch.  Sole’s mouth downturned sharply; not even so much as a ‘hello?’

Sole’s eyes flew open, and he propped himself up on his elbows to look over to where his companion had settled.  From where he currently was, Sole could only spot his sock feet, crossed and resting on the arm of the couch.  Irritation pricked at Sole, and he sat up more fully, before reaching to one of the fluffy pillows beside him.  It was plush, and buoyant; Sole squished it between his fingers, and rubbed slightly – if he wasn’t mistaken, there were actual down feathers in it.  Where had Colter obtained such a luxurious collection post-nuclear annihilation?  No matter, his frivolous tastes would finally be put to use tonight.

Sole palmed the pillow, before drawing his arm back as he quietly rolled onto his knees for better torque.  Then, he lobbed it to where he guessed Gage’s head would be.  It sailed through the air, almost poetically, and Sole had half a mind to place his hand over his heart.   _O’ Captain, My Captain_ , he thought in an amused manner.  He was a delight, which made Gage’s lack of attention an even worse transgression than he’d initially thought.  It would’ve been noiseless as it hit Gage’s head, had the raider not swore under his breath, before sitting upright, his good eye shut in groggy confusion, and his eyepatch jostled slightly to reveal his bad one.

“Hey boss,” Gage ran a tired hand along his face, before he turned to glower at Sole, “what the  _fuck_?”

Excitement coursed through Sole; his warning shot had by some stroke of luck, hit its mark.  Now, with Gage’s head poking up from the back of the couch, Sole had a much clearer target.

“Nice to see you too!” Sole grinned a shark-like grin, before he hurled another pillow at the raider.

It hit Gage squarely in the face.

“Hey!” he barked, “Stop that!”

“No!” Sole retorted childishly, slinging another pillow from his seemingly endless artillery, and holding it menacingly over his head.

“Shit, then.” Gage muttered as he snatched a pillow from off of the floor and pitched it at Sole’s head a split second before he caught another mouthful of feathers.  “Dammit!”

Gage bent over the back of the couch to scoop up the two pillows as they hit him, keeping close to the couch, narrowly dodging another attack from Sole as he did so.  When Sole busied himself with readying another pillow, that’s when Gage struck, using one hand per pillow to launch a joint attack on the Overboss.  Unfortunately, this seemingly better approach traded aim for speed, and so neither of Gage’s pillows hit anywhere near Sole; one falling short a couple of feet of the bed, and the other sailing through the bar area.  The warning sound of shattering glass is what finally did Gage in.

Gage cursed again, before shrugging and slapping his hands against his sides.

“Alright, alright, truce boss.  I’m breakin’ shit now, and while Colter had some weird tastes, ugly things is preferable to ‘no things’.”

The taste of fabric followed in the wake.

“Alright, that’s it!”

Gage vaulted over the back of the couch, and strode valiantly towards Sole, every couple of determined steps punctuated by another pillow to his face and chest.  It was raining feathers in the room, crescent moons of white floating through the air, occasionally catching the starlight and lantern rays.  It was almost ethereal; Gage would’ve appreciated it more if he wasn’t pulling them out of his mouth and from under his eyepatch.  Meanwhile, Sole was getting agitated as his attacks grew futile.

“Back evil fiend!” Sole announced melodramatically as Gage began to climb the steps to the raised platform that housed the regal bed.

“Cut it out, boss.”

By the time Gage had reached Sole, the former Vaultie was practically pinwheeling his arms in a vain attempt to fend him off. Gage sighed, before reaching up to take Sole’s wrists in a viselike grip.

“No, I’ve been caught!  Tell my family I love them!” Sole trailed off in a laugh, unable to keep a straight face through his childish antics.

“Hey –  _boss_.” Gage tried, more firmly as Sole continued to struggle against his grip.

“Et tu Brute?” Sole looked at Gage.

“Do you ever shut up?” the man grumbled.

“You don’t even think to call me Godfather.” Sole droned on, “Instead, you come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married –“

In the next instance Gage’s mouth was on Sole’s, hard and demanding as it moved against his.  Sole wasted no time in pinching his eyes shut and relaxing into the kiss.  Sole felt himself careen forward into Gage, and whatever want that had suddenly flared up in both of them, seemed to be enough to melt away the last of Gage’s resolve - and Sole’s snark.  He released his grip on Sole, and let the Overboss smooth his hands over his shoulders, and around his neck.  They were anchored together, and despite the alarms that sounded off in Gage’s head, he couldn’t deny that the idea of burying himself in Sole felt preferable to heeding his own habitual warnings.

When finally, the kiss was over, there were no more feathers suspended in the air.  Playtime was over, and Gage knew that his silencing act would only force more conversation ultimately; he and the boss had new business to discuss now after all.

Still though, Gage had to try.

“Now, will you shut up?” he asked, his cheeks burning.

 **Preston Garvey** : 

Preston scanned the empty horizon before he pivoted, and resumed his perimeter check, a comfortable whistle in his company.  From the center of the Castle’s courtyard, Radio Freedom confirmed the quiet day with a professional;  _This is Radio Freedom of the Commonwealth Minutemen, all is quiet in the Commonwealth.  Nothing to report._   It was the fourteenth consecutive time he had heard the message today.  The drone of some sort of insects buzzing, coupled with the drowsy spring heat had Preston’s mind wandering.  Preston passed two of his subordinates on his rounds; the same two women chatting idly - it was a quiet day after all.  His attention seized the tail end of their conversation like a bear trap on unsuspecting prey at the mention of Sole.

“Did you  _see_  the General today?” one of them, a short redhead with her hair tied in pigtails, gushed, her eyes bright beneath the brim of her Minuteman hat.

“A tall drink of water on a day like today,” the other agreed, smacking her gum obnoxiously.

Preston’s cheeks burned at the innuendo dripping from their tones.  In retrospect, he should’ve carried on his merry way. This side of the perimeter was clear, and he shouldn’t have been listening.  Still, he couldn’t stop.  His whistling went mute.

“God, I’d love to be alone with him,” Pigtails gushed, “to just be there, and have him press me up against a wall and –“

Preston’s mouth went dry. He cleared his throat before he spun on his heel, eyes flashing indignantly. “Do you really need to talk that way about him in public?”

The two women stared at him, puzzlement giving way to defensive irritation.

“Were you eavesdropping on us?” Bubblegum demanded.

“Yeah, this was a private conversation.”

Preston faltered for a moment at the venom that women injected into their words.  They were right. He  _had_  been eavesdropping.  Not to mention, how many times had  _he_  stood by and listened to his male comrades speak about attractive women in the same way?  How many times had he taken part in such rhetoric, even if it was just for show?  It dawned on Preston that he was in way over his head here. But he had already jumped in to defend Sole’s honor, and he couldn’t stop now.

“You were talking about it loud enough that I could hear it.  He’s our General, not a piece of meat – have some respect.”

The women glowered at him for a few moments, before they turned away and resumed their conversation in hushed tones.  Good enough, Preston supposed.  Still, a feverish mirage of images played out in his head;  _‘to just be there, and have him press me up against a wall and –‘_  Preston could practically feel worn stone grating at his back, and Sole’s warm, viselike grip at his arms, pinning him, as his mouth–

Guilt gnawed at Preston, like a molerat through wood.  He felt the need to absolve himself of such thoughts, or to at least talk to the General so he felt less…predatory, stealing kisses with his imagination’s imitation of his General, and dear friend.  Preston beelined towards Sole’s office in the eastern wing of the Castle.  His walk sped to a lofty trot and his palms broke out into a sweat.  The stone in Preston’s stomach jostled with his rushed gait; he needed to get it all out.

By the time Preston reached the office, he was so frantic he barged right in.  

Sole’s eyebrows flew up at the sound of the door hitting the wall.  Upon seeing it was Preston, Sole refocused his attention on the documents spread on his desk, the pen in his hands scrawling ceaselessly across the paper.“What can I do for you Garvey?”

So, Preston would be speaking to his General, not his friend.  Another round of sweat rendered his palms clammy.Preston removed his hat, his nervousness no longer hidden by the brim.

“I uh, well I just heard something from a few of the other Minutemen.”

“Heard what?” Sole’s tone was disinterested.

The scratching of pen on paper seemed to play like a drumroll.

“They were… rumors.  Unsavory ones.  About you.”

“Huh.  Really?”  Mild amusement played out now, and the pen stilled as Sole studied Preston.  “And what were these rumors?”

“Yes.” Preston cleared his throat. “Well, they were more… inappropriate than rude.  I thought it wasn’t fitting in your current position, so I tried to put a stop to it.”

Preston’s gaze flicked between the floor, the walls, and the doorway, as if plotting his escape.  He clutched his hat  in his hands like a life raft.

“Good God Garvey, you’re a mess.  What on earth did they say?”

There was nothing mild about Sole’s amusement anymore.

“Well, just things of a certain nature, that I’m not quite at liberty to-“

“Preston. The rumors.”

His cheeks burned as he met Sole’s inquisitive gaze.

“They said you were a ‘tall drink of water’ and that they wanted you to press them against the wall.” Preston reported dutifully, although his voice caught unceremoniously on the word ‘press’.

“Press them against the wall and?”

“I don’t know, that’s when I stepped in.”

“Huh.” Sole rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.  Preston fidgeted with his hat as Sole mulled this over.  “And what do you think would’ve happened next?”

Preston stared wide-eyed at the General.  “Excuse me?”

“After I pinned this hypothetical lover against the wall.  What do you think would’ve happened?”

Sole’s eyes pierced into Preston like a knife. “Let’s say it was you, being pinned.  What would you think would’ve happened next?”

Preston’s breath was stuck in his throat. “I… don’t know,” he croaked, his mouth feeling dry, his tongue tangled on his earlier fantasies that threatened to escape.

Sole pursed his lips, thoughtful again. “Garvey, please shut the door.”

Without thinking, Preston obliged.  The door clicked shut and the hairs on the back of Preston’s neck stood up. Half of him was unsurprised to see Sole in close-proximity when he turned around again.  Sole moved forward, his arms reaching up to meet stone as Preston let the General corner him.  Preston let out a small puff of air as Sole’s arms caged him against the wall.  Not quite like the Sole in his fantasies, but somehow, even better.  Through the window, the voices of the other Minutemen could be heard outside, easy and carefree; there was still nothing to report.

Sole’s warm breath fanned across Preston’s face, the General’s eyes, boring into his own.  His mind reeled, his pulse quickened, and he counted Sole’s breath in a futile attempt to anchor himself.  He managed to get to ‘three’, before Sole’s mouth was on his.  It was a soft kiss, almost reverent in its peace.Preston let his eyes flutter shut just in time for Sole to break away.  Preston exhaled deeply, before peeking his eyes open.  Sole still caged him against the wall, but his face had changed; void of any trace of his previous mischief.

“Was that okay?” Sole’s voice was a low murmur.  

“Better than okay.” Preston barely recognized his own voice, before Sole pressed his lips to him again, this time more urgent.  Electricity jolted Preston, and he couldn’t stop the groan that sounded from his throat as his hands cupped Sole’s face.  Wanting underscored his movements enough to knock Sole’s hat from his head, and such sloppiness only seemed to spurn more.  Sole pressed himself against Preston, chest to chest, his hands tunneling beneath his overcoat to wrap firmly around him.  Preston startled at the intimate touch, his breath snatched away again as Sole’s peppered kisses along his jaw.  Sole’s nose skimmed alongside the edge of his jaw, his fingers tugged at Preston’s scarf, and tossed it away.   He nuzzled upwards, encouraging Preston to let his head fall backwards, before he latched onto the man’s neck.

Preston gasped as Sole closed in on him, sucking gently, before lathing his tongue over the mark he’d made.  Sole let out a low growl as he caught Preston’s lips again.  Their mouths slowed against each other, winding down from the sudden yearning that had overcome them.  Sole pulled back, reaching a hand up to trace alongside Preston’s face admiringly, before he leaned in again, to press a final chaste kiss to the man’s mouth.

Preston’s guilt had long dissipated. Unfortunately, his brain function had too.  He stared back at Sole, openly, tenderly,without a single notion of how to say what made his heart seize against his ribcage, or his stomach erupt with strange butterfly activity.  Sole mirrored Preston’s soft expression, and his eyes dipped downwards before he took a deep breath, mustering the courage to tell Sole -

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

A raucous knocking at the door jerked them apart.  Sole’s face went red as he drew his sleeve across his mouth, and stooped to pick up his hat.

“Come in,” he called replacing it on his head.

Preston cleared his throat as Ronnie Shaw stepped in. “Is now a good time, General?”

“Yes, of course. What is it?” Sole’s tone was authoritative.

General mode was back on.

“Thank you, General. We’ll speak more later.” Preston nodded to Sole, who acknowledged him with a meaningful look.

Preston ducked out of the office, a little bit at ease now that he knew Ronnie would never be the wiser.  Then, the two women from earlier loomed in front of him, with their eyes narrowed shrewdly, and their arms crossed.

“Did you snitch on us?” Pigtails demanded.

“No!” Preston lied.

The pair scrutinized him, searching out for some sort of fidget to accuse, or gap in his logic.  Bubblegum’s eyes snapped to his neck.

“Hey, what happened to your scarf?”

Preston’s eyes widened and his hand snapped to his throat.  Flashes of the kiss popped up in his mind, and he had half the thought that they might be able to see it as clearly as if it were printed on his forehead.  Bubblegum leaned in to get a better look.

“Is that a  _hickey_?”

“I…uh…” Preston stammered, taking a step back.

Their eyes singed him like hot coals.

“As you were,” he choked out with a nod, before he turned heel and walked swiftly away, his heart racing for an entirely new reason.

 **X6-88** :

The bark was warm at his back, buzzing with the new life that seemed to be cropping up in the Commonwealth in the wake of (almost) total nuclear annihilation.  The leaves rustled; a sound that had before now, been alien to X6’s ears.  Sole and he had stumbled upon perhaps the only green tree left in the Commonwealth, and it made him feel almost peaceful.  He thought that if the world had demanded the same sort of mental frivolities the pre-war one had, it might consider snapping a picture of the proud tree, standing almost indignantly before the scarred, debris-littered land.  Sole had called it an ‘oak’.  X6 leaned up against it and considered shucking off his coat.  The cool breeze that shook the boughs combined with the sunlight that filtered in through the sparsely dancing gaps in between made it pleasant enough to do so.  The plush leather of his coat buffered him from the coarseness of the bark.

The mildness of the day made it ideal for lounging in idleness, but X6 found his mind unable to match it.  His mind was reeling, caught in a rush of thoughts that fell out of his reach and dropped over a cliff.  One, stood out to him, driftwood caught in the River Styx.  How he wished he could be taken by picturesque afternoons like humans could be, penciled in from the content imagination of someone who was familiar with such days.  He wished he weren’t bored by such flutterby notions, in their meandering, bumbling qualities.  He looked to Sole, and the whirlwind centered a bit.  He was the eye of the storm – the perfect peace with which all hell erupted around him.  At least, that’s what he was to X6.

He watched sunlight dance off Sole’s eyes and warm X6 as if he’d stepped out of the shade.  He was seared with a frantic sense of belonging, and relenting to the futility of attempting to escape it.  X6 swallowed; his tongue felt intrusive as it tangled in his dry mouth.  He was grateful Sole didn’t ask anything of him in that moment.  

What Sole did do was come to join him beneath the oak giant.  He didn’t say a thing; just sat their beside X6, as the wind whispered through the leaves. Pre-war, Sole used to be able to catch a taste of spring in the air when it was like this; flowery and green with the turnover of freshly mowed grass.  Now, he caught an acrid tang, similar in its faintness to the archaic spring wind, but that’s all; dust and perhaps even some ash dampened the new wind. X6 was humoring the faint tickle in the back of his throat when Sole had started to lean in.  The Courser’s instincts had picked up on this newly found trajectory, but it was done with such a sense of sureness, he hadn’t thought anything of it.  That was just how he and Sole functioned; trusting each other to do what they did, no questions asked.  

Something soft grazed against his cheek, and X6 turned sharply to face it, though he already knew it must’ve been Sole.  His own face was impassive; and he realized he wasn’t surprised.  He had seen Sole lean in, had allowed himself to remain still enough in that instance so as to not startle the other man away.  Frankly, they had been skirting the line between people-who-kiss and people-who-don’t-kiss for days now.  It was almost a relief to have finally declared a side.  They both moved in now, simultaneously, like two magnets.  X6’s gloved hands caught Sole’s jaw, and Sole’s arms grasped largely around him, one winding around the back of his head, and the other wrapping at the Courser’s waist.  Both of their eyes fluttered shut as their lips met and they melted together, like the sun had softened them, and wind had eroded at their resolve just enough to make them bend to one another.  The warmth of their touches was soothing in the shade, which drew goose bumps across the exposed flesh of X6’s arms.  Splotches of white light and sucking blackness danced across his eyelids as the leaves broke at the slanted sunlight that pierced through the canopy.

Everything X6 might possibly want to say at a time like this was sapped into radio silence.  His last train of thought rolled out and disappeared like morning fog suffusing over the quiet surface of a lake.  Every instinct of his had been commandeered by Sole; the feel of his windchilled skin beneath his fingers, his scent – hubflowers and the slight tang of sweat – that lifted from his hair when X6’s hands bunched in it.  His lips were gentle and firm, soft and a little chapped, they rasped deliciously against his own.  An eternity could’ve passed between them, and X6 would’ve considered it time well spent, so long as it was Sole, he was giving that time to.

Sole pulled back and X6 swore he left a part of himself with him.  He flushed; most taken by the man who’d given him a chance on himself.  


End file.
